The End of the Beginning
by YT1
Summary: Terry is forced to juggle several challenges in both his lives - including the appearance of some mysterious people who could be allies or enemies, and the return of an old love. FINISHED!
1. Introduction and Acknowledgements

The End of the Beginning

a _Batman Beyond_ fanfic by YT

_Batman Beyond_ and its characters don't belong to me. The series belongs to Warner Brothers, as do its predecessor _Batman: The Animated Series_ and _Justice League,_ to which I will make reference in this story.These series are all based on stories created by DC Comics.  I'm just borrowing them. Some of the other items I've borrowed (some characters and concept ideas) are from  Eidos/Ion Storm's _Deus Ex.  _If I borrow anything else in the course of the story I will adjust the disclaimer accordingly. If you want to reprint this story or borrow something from me, please send me an e-mail – my address is on my profile.

If you have any constructive criticism to give (emphasis on "constructive"), please do so. To all of you - read, enjoy and review.

Note: After watching _The Call_ I realized that I was wrong to refer to the Justice League as the JLA.  In _Batman Beyond_ the League is the Justice League Unlimited, or JLU.  I've changed all the acronyms accordingly, or at least I think I did.  If I missed one please e-mail me and say so.

_Peter Parker is the guy who got bit by the radioactive spider, the toxic bug if you will, and became Spiderman.  Normally he's a nebbish.  No money, no prestige, no future.  But if you try to mug him in a dark alley, you're meat.  The question he keeps asking himself is: "Do all those moments of satisfaction I get as Spiderman make up for all the crap I have to take as Peter Parker?"  In my case, the answer is yes._

--Sangamon Taylor

_Zodiac_, by Neal Stephenson

Shameless Buddy Plug – If you are a fan of _ReBoot_, please read my friend Val's fics!  She's on my Favorite Authors list.


	2. Chapter One : It Ain't Easy

            It hasn't been a good night for Batman. Which means that it hasn't been a good night for Terry McGinnis, either.

            There are times when he thinks about how these two personalities, the vigilante and the high school kid, interact with each other. When he'd first started this, he'd thought that he could control that interaction, the passage of emotions from one to the other. Now he knows better. The relationship between hero and not-so-mild-mannered alter ego turned out to be nothing like he'd expected, a lot more complicated and unequal than he'd been prepared to deal with.

            For instance, when Terry McGinnis has a problem – which is often – his feelings about it usually don't do much to Batman, even if they are _because of Batman. He's able to put those concerns aside, keep them at arm's length from himself, while he does what has to be done. _

            But when Batman has a problem, it hits Terry McGinnis just as hard, like it's doing now. Even when it's solely Batman's problem, when it doesn't have to do with Terry's friends or family or keeping his secret from them, it's still his problem. He'd known almost from the beginning that Batman comes first and Terry McGinnis second, but it had taken him longer to figure out that the arrangement applied in his own head as well as in the outside world.

            As he eases the Batmobile to a gentle touchdown, he sees Mr. Wayne get up from the chair in front of the computer and start walking towards him. Ace, who as usual has been lying beside the chair, lifts his head to regard his master curiously; then he gets to his feet, shakes himself, and follows behind him at a steady trot.

            This is pretty unusual. Wayne only gets up to meet Terry when there's something _really_ serious going on. Terry's never thought badly of him for it. At first he thought that, heck, the man is old and he has trouble getting around. When he got to know Mr. Wayne better, he came up with another explanation that now seems a lot more plausible: the old man doesn't get to his feet for Terry because he is telling him, in his subtle way, that _he_ is the boss. The fact that he's not following the usual routine now is a pretty major thing. Terry actually feels touched, because he knows that this gesture from his employer is like a dramatic outpouring of sympathy from someone else. But he feels embarrassed, too, because it means that Wayne is trying to comfort him.

            Terry presses a button and the canopy of the Batmobile lifts and slides open, allowing him to unbuckle the restraints, climb out and drop to the ground as Wayne and Ace reach the landing pad. As the Batmobile's canopy slides back into place, Terry straightens up, lifts his hand to the mask and takes hold of it at his neck. The microscopic systems inside the mask, sensing his intentions, detach the mask from the rest of the suit, making them into separate pieces where once they were fused. The material of the mask, which had fitted itself to his face like a second skin when he put it on, slackens so that he can pull it off. He knows, in an abstract sort of way, that on the invisible level of the circuits and nanomachines inside the suit this is a big and complex process, but to him it feels just like pulling off a ski mask. Except for his eyes and ears, because once the equipment in the mask is no longer between his senses and the rest of the world, when it's suddenly stopped enhancing his hearing, stopped filtering the light so that he won't be blinded by brightness or darkness, it's always a little like getting hit with a bucket of cold water. It takes him a moment to adjust.

            But more than that, pulling off the mask puts Batman in the back of his mind and puts Terry McGinnis in the front. His brain closes one program and starts another. Well, not really. He's constantly running both programs at once, and switches back and forth between them depending on the circumstances. Usually the mask's presence or lack of it maximizes one of them and minimizes the other, but like everything else in Terry's life it's not all that clear-cut. As often as not, or more often than not, there are exceptions.

            Mr. Wayne is standing a few meters away from the Batmobile. He's got his cane, but he doesn't look like he's leaning on it. Terry's still not sure whether he's trying to look like he doesn't need it, or just using it to project the illusion of frailty. Max and Terry have an ongoing debate about this subject. Ace, standing a little behind and to the side of his master, is watching Terry with what looks like a concerned expression.

            "How are you doing? Are you okay?" Wayne asks. Neither his face nor his tone of voice indicates that these are any more than casual questions, but they're questions that he rarely ever asks. Ace, sensing something amiss, perks his ears and cocks his head to one side.

            Terry doesn't know how to respond. Half of him doesn't feel anything, but the other half is on the verge of breaking down in despair. So he settles for a compromise and shrugs. "I don't know." Ace slips around Mr. Wayne and comes up to Terry, making a soft whine. Terry absentmindedly reaches out a hand to scratch him behind the ears.

            Mr. Wayne looks at him carefully, obviously trying to figure out what to say next. They both know that he isn't very good at this sort of thing. "It wasn't your fault, Terry. There's nothing you could have done."

            "I know," Terry says softly. He looks down at Ace, then pulls his hand away from the dog's head and turns to Mr. Wayne again. "But that doesn't help."

            There is a moment of tense silence between them. Wayne turns around, indicating with the slightest flick of his eyes that Terry should follow him. Terry walks a few paces behind him, back to the computer, as Ace jogs ahead of both of them and returns to his place by the chair. On the way to the computer terminal, Terry takes a short detour so that he can grab the stool that's sitting off to the side. He knows that Wayne is going to have a Discussion with him, whether he likes it or not, so he might as well sit down for it.

            When they've got the seating arrangements down, with Terry perched on his stool and Bruce Wayne in his chair and Ace lying on the floor as usual (but keeping an ear perked up out of curiosity), the older man restarts the conversation by speaking first. "Did you know her?"

            Terry shakes his head. "No. I don't think I'd ever seen her before. She was probably…I don't know, thirteen or fourteen years old. Not in my school." He's surprised by the flatness of the words coming out of his mouth. With a sigh, he puts his hands up to his face and drags them downward, stretching the skin. "Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital until…" He trails off as he sees Mr. Wayne shake his head.

            "I know you wanted to. But that would have caused problems." His brow furrows. "If I hadn't told you to leave, would you have stayed?"

            _Slag it, I hate __it when he asks me questions like that. "Probably not," he answers. And it's the truth. He took the kid to the hospital, but he knew when he got there and gave her over to the doctors that he couldn't stay. It wouldn't have helped, anyway. Some incredibly stupid and optimistic part of him is hoping that she'll recover, but the rest of him knows better. _All that blood_. If she wasn't dead by the time he got her to the hospital, she had died shortly afterwards. For some reason he resents that the suit pushes most foreign particles out of its fibers, whether they are solid or liquid, that the only trace of red on it is the bright bat design in the front. Somehow, he thinks, it would be better if it were stained with dark crimson. Even if not a single cell of it remains in the fabric, he will never forget the feeling of that girl's blood soaking the suit. The fact that it was repelled before it could dry there seems utterly wrong to him._

            "Well, the man who did it has been caught. He'll get the punishment he deserves." There is an awkward pause. "It's his fault. Not yours."

            Terry's feeling of cool detachment, the barrier between emotion and expression, suddenly evaporates as reality slams down on him. He puts his head in his hands, because he's not sure he can keep himself from crying.  "Does it ever get any easier?" he asks, his voice shaking.  But he knows what the answer will be, even before the question is all the way out.

            He can't see Mr. Wayne, since he's covering his face. In his mind's eye, though, he can see Wayne looking at him, his face set but his eyes tired and sad. "No, it doesn't," he answers.

            Although he hears Wayne get up from his chair and step closer to him, Terry doesn't quite process the sounds, so he's startled when he feels his mentor put a hand on his shoulder. Terry drops his own hands away from his face and looks up. The look in Wayne's eyes speaks volumes. _I know how it feels. It may be inevitable, but it's impossible to accept. I'm sorry._

            But he doesn't say any of these things aloud. "Go home, Terry," he says gently. "Get some rest. You've done enough for tonight."


	3. Chapter Two : Rough Transitions

            Terry actually cries himself to sleep, something he hasn't done since his dad died, and before that…he doesn't remember.  His body shakes, not with suppressed sobs, but with the violence of a heroin addict going through withdrawal.  He presses his face into his pillow so that it will soak up the downpour of tears.

            When his dad died about a year ago, he had been able to turn to his mother for comfort.  She was the only person whose shoulder he could cry on, and she still is.  But he can't bring this to her, and it wouldn't be right to make up some other reason.  So he has to keep it hidden, a small secret tucked into the larger one that looms over his whole life.

            It occurs to him to wonder whether Bruce Wayne had ever cried alone in the dark like this, for an unknown, innocent person he'd been unable to protect.  That's the last thing to go through his mind before his senses are hammered by the beetling of the alarm clock.

                Terry sits bolt upright, propelled by a powerful mixture of confusion and sheer animal terror.  He looks around, wild-eyed, and catches sight of the clock, which reads 6:45 AM.  His bewilderment evaporates as his brain starts getting into gear.  With a muttered curse he punches the clock's OFF button.  The incessant shrill of the alarm is suddenly aborted.

            He yawns as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, then knuckles his eyes to get the morning gunk out of them.  And only then does he become aware of how sore and heavy and sticky his eyeballs are, of the ache in his throat, the crustiness on his cheeks, and a generally shitty feeling that's more intense than the usual just-woke-up miasma.  He wonders if he might be sick or something.

            Then it comes back to him, in a rapid series of images and sounds that hit him like blows.  The gun.  The girl.  The blood.  The tears.  His bloodstream, only just recovering from the massive dose of adrenalin released into it in response to the alarm clock, gets a fresh jolt.  Terry feels as if his head has turned into vapor and his stomach to ice.  The room seems to spin, and he puts his hands over his ears, as if trying to hold his head in place.  Maybe it was just a nightmare – right now, it doesn't seem quite real.

            _Yeah, right_, says a bitter voice in the back of his head.  _You _wish _it was only a nightmare_.  Terry looks down at the pillow and then, cautiously, reaches out a hand to feel it.  Part of it is still damp, and much of the surface is stiff with the salt left behind by the evaporating water.  In his mind there flashes an image of the pillow stained with dried blood: He pushes it down.

            His mother can't know about this.  She can't know that he was crying.  He gets up and flips the pillow over, so that the dampness and salt are hidden.  But it isn't enough.  With a sudden, manic frenzy, he tugs at the ground sheet, trying to straighten it out so that there are no creases.  Then he yanks the sheet and blanket off the bed and starts remaking the whole thing.  He's just finished putting the sheets back on and is getting ready for the next phase, the blanket, when he gets his third shock for the morning.

            This time it's a knock on the bedroom door.  "Terry?  Are you up?"  It's his mother.

            He jumps with surprise and almost drops the blanket, but manages to catch it.  "Yeah, Mom, I'm awake," he calls out, hoping that his voice sounds steady enough.

            "Good.  Remember to put on some nice clothes," she reminds him, her voice fading as she moves away from the door.

            _Nice clothes?_  He mulls over this for about five seconds before making a connection.

            Graduation day.  It's graduation day.

            He finishes making the bed, moving more slowly this time.  Then he dashes to the bathroom down the hall, brushes his teeth, takes a shower, combs his hair and zips back to his room.  He goes through his closet, looking for something decent to wear.  After a short search he settles on a dark blue button-down shirt, black trousers and a pair of shiny black shoes.  He moves through this whole sequence like a zombie, and the only time he actually thinks at all is in the choosing of his outfit for the day.  For the rest of it he tries not to think at all.  Real thought is more than he can deal with right now.

            Once he's done, he takes a look at his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging in his closet.  He looks pretty good – his eyes look a little red, but not noticeably so.  Physically, at least, he feels a lot better than he did when he woke up.  He checks the clock – 7:10 AM.  It may be the last day of school, but he still has to be in by 7:45 so that he can get the final grades from his teachers.  At least he knows that he's passed them all.  If he hadn't, there would have been a phone call or a note home by now.

            There won't be much time for breakfast, but at least he'll have time to grab a nutrition bar and a glass of water, which is better than usual.  Terry closes the closet door, walks to the window, and presses a button so that the shades will open.  Sunlight comes flooding into the room.  He blinks his eyes against it.

            Somewhere in the back of his head, Batman chooses this moment to smirk and make some wry comment about how easy Terry McGinnis is finding it to ignore him right now.  Most of the time, Terry doesn't mind that sort of thing, but now he grits his teeth and vindictively pushes Batman down.  For the next several hours, the only person in Terry's conscious mind will be Terry McGinnis.

~***~

            If Maxine Gibson has to shake one more hand, just _one more_, she is going to scream her lungs out.

            Okay, maybe she won't.  But she's getting sick of the endless stream of adults (she's eighteen years old, but can't quite manage to think of herself as an adult), many of them strangers, all their congratulations and smiles and features and handshakes blending into one big, undifferentiated whole.  Shaking hands is even more of a problem because it's difficult to hold her degree and her valedictorian award plaque with one hand.  The plaque has gotten steadily heavier and heavier since it was given to her about half an hour ago.  She's been wandering around the main gymnasium, where the reception is being held, trying to find Terry.  Max didn't get a chance to talk to him before the graduation ceremony, and hasn't seen him since.

            The gym, which is a little too warm even in the dead of winter, is stifling in the early June heat.  The black cap and gown, though they are made of thin, cheap polyester, make it even worse.  Max pushes through the crowd, trying to keep from making eye contact or getting squashed.

            Suddenly, she hears a voice behind her.  "Max," it says simply.  The voice is soft, but it manages to make itself heard despite the surrounding din.  And though she's only met the speaker a couple of times, it's impossible to mistake him.

            Max turns around to face Bruce Wayne, who is dressed in his usual black but does not seem to be sweating.  She saw him sitting in the back of the auditorium during the graduation ceremony.  Even though part of her had expected him to come, she'd been surprised to see him there.  She is even more surprised to see that, even though the gym is so crowded, Bruce Wayne seems to have plenty of space.  The man seems to have a personal force field that assures him three feet of clearance on all sides. What makes it really weird is that nobody else seems to notice him.

            In Max's case, the force field is ineffectual.  She steps into the cleared space to talk to him.  "Hi, Mr. Wayne.  How are you?"

            He nods.  "Fine."  His eyes narrow just a little, for the shortest second – she almost doesn't catch it.  "You look a little overwhelmed."

            She's relieved that _someone's_ finally noticed.  "Yeah.  Too many handshakes."  Max realizes too late that Mr. Wayne may find this offensive, since it's likely that he was planning to congratulate her as so many other people have.

            But he smiles, just a little.  "I thought so," he said.  "Do you mind if I ask what college you're going to?"

            That's another thing she's gotten too much of, the college question.  Coming from Wayne, though, it's not annoying at all.  "Cornell.  I'm not sure what I want to major in yet, though.  Maybe art or music or history."

            Mr. Wayne actually looks surprised.  "Hm.  That's funny, I thought you'd pick engineering."

            Max shrugs.  "Yeah, but it's stuff I've done before.  I want to try something new."  She's got the feeling that Wayne is laughing at her behind his eyes, but not in an unfriendly way.  "So, is Terry going to work for you full-time from now on or what?" she asks casually.

            "For the summer, at least," Mr. Wayne clarifies.  "He's going to start at City College in the fall."  The two-year Gotham City College is supported mostly by tax money – the base tuition is relatively low – and will admit any high-school graduate residing in Gotham as long as he or she has decent grades.  Terry had told Max that his mother was pressuring him to go there instead of just changing his current job from part-time to full-time.  It looks like Mrs. McGinnis got her way. 

            "Oh," Max says.  "Where is he, by the way?"

            "He's talking with Dana," Wayne answers.  Max finds it odd that he called her 'Dana' and not 'his girlfriend.'  But then again, Wayne's more than just Terry's boss.

            At that moment, Terry himself joins them, pushing his way out of the crowd.  Max opens her mouth to say hello, but shuts it.

            It's the expression on his face.  She doesn't need to ask him what's wrong.  The whole story is practically written on his forehead.

            Mr. Wayne probably sees it too, but he asks anyway.  "What is it, Terry?"

            Terry takes a deep breath and lets out a weary sigh.  "Dana just dumped me."


	4. Chapter Three : Dance of Secrets

Right after Terry says it he looks kind of embarrassed.  He probably didn't mean to put it that way.  Max is surprised that he said it at all in front of his boss, but she remembers that Wayne referred to Dana by name, so he's obviously familiar with the dynamics of her relationship with Terry.  Not the way Max is (after all, she's been covering for Terry to his girlfriend for the past several months), but he's obviously in the know.  Mr. Wayne looks sort of apologetic, but he doesn't say anything.

Terry lowers his eyes, sighs again, and waves a hand as if brushing his words out of the air.  "Never mind.  I'll work it out with her later."  Max will probably have to help with that, but she's used to it.  And it's not really a problem – Dana and Terry were about due for a falling-out anyway, and they always manage to patch things up.

Mr. Wayne follows Terry's lead and acts as if the past ten seconds didn't happen at all.  "Congratulations, Terry."  He smiles.  "Do you feel any different now that you've got a diploma?"

Max watches Terry carefully.  He doesn't smile, exactly, but he looks more cheerful than he did just a moment ago.  "I don't know.  Do I_ look _any different?"

Wayne looks him up and down carefully.  "Except for the outfit, no," he says with a perfectly straight face.  Max chuckles.

This actually gets Terry to smile.  "Thanks for coming to see me."

"Wouldn't miss it," Mr. Wayne says.  Simple words, but Max can tell that he's glad to know how much Terry appreciates the gesture.

Terry turns to Max.  "Hey, congrats on making valedictorian."

She nods.  "Thanks."  It's really not much more than a decoration to her.  For Max, getting good grades is so easy that it doesn't feel like an achievement.

            "Oh, Mr. Wayne!" someone calls.  It's Terry's mom, who pushes her way through the crowd to reach them.  She's got Terry's little brother Matt in tow, and he looks kind of cranky.  "I didn't see you in the auditorium," she says.  "Thank you so much for coming to Terry's graduation.  It means a lot to him."

            "That's why I'm here," Mr. Wayne replies.

            "And Maxine!" she exclaims with a smile.  "Congratulations on your award."  She holds out a hand for Max to shake.

            Max does not have a fit, as she had earlier determined to do if she had to go through this whole song and dance again.  Instead she shakes Mrs. McGinnis's hand and mumbles some words of thanks.

            Then Mrs. McGinnis turns to her son.  "Ter, I know I told you already, but I'm so _proud _of you!"  She throws her arms around him and gives him a big hug.

            "_Mom!_" Terry protests, because like all adolescent males he is embarrassed to be the object of so much maternal affection in public.

            Matt tugs on his mother's dress as she releases her older son.  "Mom, it's too hot in here.  I wanna go home!"

            "We can't go home yet, dear," Mrs. McGinnis says gently.  "I have to say hello to Dana."

            Max can sense Terry stiffening a bit at the mention of Dana's name, but neither of them say anything.  Dana will probably do the same, since it would be unforgivably rude of her to break the news to Mrs. McGinnis before Terry himself does.  Mr. Wayne, of course, does not comment.

            "I'll take him outside, if that's okay." Terry offers.  "The heat's getting to me too."

            Mrs. McGinnis and Mr. Wayne nod their agreement.  Matt, looking relieved, takes his brother's hand so he won't get lost in the crowd.  Max decides to follow Terry out, leaving the two adults to converse with each other.

            Once they get outside, Matt runs to join a group of kids – like him, younger siblings of the graduates – who are playing at the bottom of the school steps.  Terry and Max sit down together on one side of the stairway, far away from the doors, the playing children and other people.  It's hot out here, but a lot more comfortable than the gym.  Max takes off her mortarboard hat and puts it aside with her diploma and her plaque.

            Terry takes off his own hat and puts it on his lap.  Max knows that he needs to talk to her but isn't going to start the conversation, so she does.  "So, are you going to talk to Dana when she calms down?  Anything you want me to tell her?"  That's the standard questionnaire for these situations.

            "I don't know," Terry says quietly as he hunches forward, resting his arms on his knees.  "We didn't exactly have a fight this time.  She'd been thinking about breaking up for a while."

            Now Max is starting to get worried.  This whole thing is deviating from the usual script.  "A while as in, how long?"

            Terry shrugs.  "She said about two weeks.  She was planning to tell me before, but couldn't make herself do it until today.  I mean, she knew it was a bad time, but she thought that if she didn't do it she wouldn't be able to."  He leans back, looks up at the sky.  "She's right.  It wasn't working out – I can't really compromise between her and…you know."

            Max sighs with exasperation.  "You should _tell_ her about it," she suggests for the umpteenth time.  "It would make things easier."  She always makes this suggestion, but Terry never even considers it.  He's probably going to reject it outright, as he always does.

            He turns to look at Max, in a way that makes her feel a little scared.  "I came _this close_," – he holds up his right hand, the thumb and forefinger almost touching – "_This close_ to telling her.  She was saying that I had trouble deciding what was most important in my life.  I wanted to tell her that I _do _know what's important, because people could _die_ if I don't do my job.  Someone died last night."

            Suddenly the early summer afternoon goes from warm to ice-cold.  Max gasps and puts a hand to her mouth.  "Oh my _God_.  I'm so sorry."  She remembers the conversation he had with Mr. Wayne a few minutes ago, how they both acted perfectly normal, and she feels – strangely enough – impressed by how well they concealed the feelings that this caused them.  Then again, they've both had a lot of practice at hiding things.

            Terry sits up again, puts his hands over his face, takes in a deep breath and lets it out, slowly.  "But I realized that I _couldn't_ tell her.  It wouldn't help.  She wouldn't be able to deal with me taking that kind of risk.  Dana would want me to give it up, and I can't."  He just sits there silently for a couple of seconds.  "And then I thought, I can't really be in love with someone who isn't able to take Batman along with me.  So it's over," he concludes miserably.  He drags his hands down his face, crosses his arms and looks down at his feet.

            Max puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.  She doesn't say anything.  What _can _you say to something like this?

            They sit like that for about a minute before Max hears the sound of someone running up the steps toward them.  She turns to look for the source of the noise, and removes her hand from Terry's shoulder as he sits up to do the same.

            It's Terry's little brother Matt, who is trying to catch his breath after his dash up the stairs.  "Hey Terry, can I try on the hat?"  He points to the mortarboard hat which Terry has placed on the step beside him.

            Terry's already erased all traces of sadness from his expression, put on the act that will convince his kid brother that nothing's wrong.  "Sure, Matt.  Here you go…no, you twip, you're supposed to wear it with the corner facing forward like _this…_"

            Sometimes Max has trouble living with the knowledge of her friend's secret.  Not because her association with his other self puts her in physical danger, although it has a couple of times.  Mostly because it's made Batman a big thing in her life, something that she's extremely involved with, and yet she has to cover it up.  At first it was just a game, but now she takes it as seriously as she can take anything else.  There are times when the secret feels like a solid thing, a pressure that might crush her or cause her to burst.  She's never said that to Terry, though, because to anyone other than herself it would be ridiculous.

            But until now she's never known, _really_ known, how much of a burden it is for Terry.  Not just because of lost sleep, fun activities cut short, unexplained absences, that kind of thing.  It's because keeping his secret is not as simple as keeping Batman separate from the rest of his life.  To do that he has to deceive the people closest to him every day, by making excuses, masking emotions and injuries, hurting their feelings because it would be dangerous for him to let them know the truth.

            Max watches Terry joke with his little brother, watches him laugh and smile like nothing's wrong.  Matt blows a raspberry in his brother's face, so Terry retaliates by tickling him.  _How does he pull it off?_ she wonders to herself.  For the first time, she really thinks about what he might be like in the distant future, and she tries to imagine him keeping the secret the secret this way, like Mr. Wayne did, for the rest of his life.


	5. Chapter Four : Taking Flight

            Back at home later that night, Terry's helping his mom make dinner.  He's making the hamburger patties out of ground beef while she's chopping vegetables for a stew.  For a while, he manages to forget that he's anyone or anything other than the person he appears to be, just plain Terry McGinnis, and the biggest secret he's hiding is his breakup with Dana.  He hasn't told his mother yet, since she's in such a good mood about his graduation and he doesn't want to spoil it for her.  She could use a little uninterrupted happiness.

            "So, what do you think you're going to study at the college?" she asks.

            "I don't know yet.  But I've got the whole summer to decide."  He finishes a patty and puts it on the plate to his right, then takes another handful of ground meat from the bowl at his left.

            "Any idea what you want to do when you graduate?"  There's something strange about the way she asks the question, but Terry can't quite pin it down.

            "I'll work full-time for Mr. Wayne, I guess."

            In the seconds of uncomfortable silence that follow, he realizes that his mother does not like this answer.

            "But it's a rough job, Ter.  Don't you want to do something a little less stressful?"

            It occurs to Terry that his mother has brought up this topic quite often in the past month or so.  "I can handle it.  And I like it."

            There are times when he's convinced that his mother knows more about his job than she lets on.  Now is one of those times – the way she's looking at him makes him want to squirm.  The uneasy sensation caused by that look lingers on even after she turns back to the vegetables she's chopping.  "I'm just concerned, that's all."  She picks up the cutting board and pushes fragments of cucumber into the pot on the stove, then puts the board back down and starts cutting up a tomato.  "I'm your mother, I have a right to worry about these things."  She's trying to make it sound funny, but she doesn't do a very good job.

            Terry is saved from the need to respond when the phone starts ringing.  Since he's just touched raw meat, his mother answers it first.  "Hello, McGinnis residence."  Her lips purse slightly.  "Oh, Mr. Wayne, I'll give the phone to him in a moment."  As soon as Terry hears his mother say 'Mr. Wayne,' he is walking to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.  Once they're clean and dry he takes the phone from her.  She goes back to slicing vegetables, and though her back is turned Terry is painfully aware of the fact that she's got most of her attention on him.

            "_Terry.  There's something going on at the VibranTech plant at the edge of town.  I think it might be sabotage – get down there as fast as you can._"

            "Yes sir," Terry says.  "I'll be right there."  As he hangs up the phone, he can feel his mother's eyes on him.

            He looks at her apologetically.  She shrugs and sighs.  "I guess you'll be missing dinner tonight…"  So much for not spoiling her good mood.

            "Sorry, Mom.  I'll see you later, okay?"  Terry kisses her on the cheek, which seems to make her feel a little better.  He rolls down the sleeves of his shirt as he leaves the kitchen and heads for the front door, then grabs his coat from the hook beside it before heading out of the apartment,  still feeling his mother's eyes on him even when though out of her sight.

~***~

            Terry, back in the suit and the Batman persona, is at the edge of town, perched on the smokestack of a factory adjacent to the sprawling expanse of the VibranTech building.  It houses both the manufacturing plant and the administrative offices of the company.  Directly opposite him, on the western horizon, the last red rays of the sun are fading out.  The street lights have already been turned on, and more lights are switching on all across the city.  As the sun recedes, Terry – or at least the Batman in him – grows more and more comfortable.  He can and does go out during the day, on occasion, but the night city is his territory.

            He's already left behind the troubles of Terry McGinnis: His mother, his future, Dana, everything.  They don't concern him.  And the girl's death the night before, the one he could not prevent, still weighs on him, but not as heavily as it did on his other self.  He is Batman, and death by violence is a regular part of his world.  He can prevent it most of the time, and when he can't he can atone a thousand times over by bringing criminals to justice.  The powerless Terry McGinnis can feel grief but can't do much else. But Batman _can_ do something, and whatever he does has a major effect on the rest of the world.

            Mr. Wayne has already filled him in on the situation, as well as the background details of the company itself.  VibranTech Systems was created about fifteen years ago by a nanotechnology specialist who used to work for Mr. Wayne (he actually designed some of the systems that are installed in the suit, although he never found out that his boss was using them that way).  What was initially a small, highly specialized enterprise quickly transformed into a reasonably successful company.  About a year ago, the founding father of the organization retired and handed the reins to his daughter, who built the facility Terry is currently concerned with and recently moved the business into it from its smaller headquarters upstate.  During the three months since the move, the new company president has taken her father's business to new heights of success, and it's still shooting upward.  VibranTech is becoming a major competitor on the business field, and may soon become a formidable rival for the top players.

            Right now, though, the company is having problems.  As the sun sinks lower and the darkness deepens, all the buildings in Gotham are coming alive with lights.  All except for this one, which is completely dark but for the occasional beam of a flashlight.  Its connection to the electrical grid went down twenty minutes ago.  That in itself isn't a big thing, it happens to manufacturing facilities like this all the time, but there's something suspicious here – federal law requires that places like this have backup generators to keep the lights, climate control, elevator and security systems working when the power goes down.  The auxiliary systems should be on, but they aren't.  Mr. Wayne says that he has other reasons to suspect that this failure is the result of foul play, rather than an accident.

            "Think the competition's trying to shut them down?" Terry asks over the transmitter.

            "_Maybe.  But it might not be a simple case of sabotage,_" Wayne says.  "_VibranTech has just developed some new nanorobots for medical use.  They can treat in a few hours injuries and illnesses  that take multiple surgeries or months of therapy to heal with conventional methods.  As of now it's in prototype, but it's due to be released soon._"  Wayne does not tell Terry how this might be related to the power failure – he'll provide the information if asked, but he wants Terry to figure it out himself.

            Terry thinks carefully for a few moments.  "Someone might want to make a weapon out of it," he guesses.

            "_That's just what I was thinking,_" Wayne confirms.  Terry allows himself a brief smile of satisfaction.  "_With the power down, whoever's trying to steal the data won't have to worry about the plant's security systems._"

            "Maybe not," Terry says mischievously, "But they _will _have to worry about me."

            The sky has almost completed its transition from day to night.  A narrow band of light blue on the far horizon is the only remnant of daylight, and it is rapidly disappearing.  Nocturnal darkness secures its hold on Gotham City as its black guardian angel turns on his camouflage, launches himself from his perch and free-falls for a few seconds before unfurling his wings and going into a descending glide.  An observer, if there is one, might discern a slight distortion in the air, but he would probably write it off as heat or imagination or his eyes playing tricks on him, unless he's watching for it.  And since it's dark, he probably wouldn't see anything at all.

            Terry lands on the building's flat roof, which is home to a couple of landing pads, ventilation equipment, some satellite dishes and a couple of broadcasting towers.  There's also a door that opens on to a stairway down into the building; that's his way in.  He could go in through the massive front gate into the entrance/loading bay if he wants to, since its force field is offline, but in a situation like this the front door is the most dangerous way in.  A thought picked up by the suit's synaptic links causes the wings to fold themselves again and merge seamlessly with the material on his back.

            It's dark on the roof, but the visual equipment in his cowl enhances the ambient light so that his surroundings are merely dim instead of pitch-black.  He goes into a crouch and taps his left temple twice with his index finger.  A false-color scheme imposes itself on his field of vision, letting him see a section of the electromagnetic spectrum that the unassisted human eye cannot perceive.  Terry makes a careful examination of the roof, noting the local heat sources which are helpfully picked out in shades of red by the equipment in his cowl.  Some of the machines up here are still a bit warm, and there are a few pigeons hanging around, but he doesn't pick up anything that might be a human being.  Good.

            He stands up and turns off the suit's camo (it needs a lot of energy to run), as well as his heat vision.  Then he darts quickly to the door.  It's got a number-pad lock.  The power is off, but the suit can provide the circuitry with enough power to release the lock.  Terry extends his right index finger, which sprouts a two-pronged electromagnetic lockpick.  In the darkness, the small device crackles with blue energy.  He inserts the tiny prongs into a pair of holes above the number pad.  The suit's sensors detect that the lock is without power, so it transfers some juice into the wires through the lockpick even as it is using the same device to break the passcode and open the door.

            It doesn't take more than two seconds.  Terry hears a _click_ and the door opens towards him just a little.  He removes and deactivates the lockpick before pulling the door open and stepping through.

            Once he's over the threshold, he shuts the door quietly behind him.  He's in.


	6. Chapter Five : Playing with Snakes

            "What's taking so long?  We must get those schematics before the power cell runs out!"

            "I'm working as fast as I can, sir.  We underestimated their security measures."

            "Don't give me excuses!  Get the files!"  Gavron Colmes, known to the organization he works for as Brother Fang, is getting extremely nervous.  He is convinced that this whole operation is cursed.

It had started with their inside man.  His mission had been to cut power to the security systems and then make it look like a malfunction (one that would take several hours to repair, of course).  Instead, he'd blundered and cut _all_ the electrical systems.  Kobra would find him and punish him for such incompetence, when this was all over.  At least the security systems were down, and the lack of light and working elevators would keep the security guards confused for a while.  But there was no power for the computers, which made the job a lot harder.  Fortunately they'd managed to get a power cell out of a cleaning robot and jerry-rigged it to power the computer systems.  However, the battery was not meant to support a machine as extensive as the mainframe computer for any significant amount of time, and it would soon be out.  The delay caused by the power problem – and the security programs that were keeping them from the files they needed – had set them back considerably.  Every second means that they are that much more likely to get caught.  Someone has probably alerted the police already.  If they don't get out soon, they'll be trapped.

So Brother Fang is very, very edgy.  It doesn't help that the computer room is so full of shadows.  Since the room is tucked deep within the bowels of the building, there are no windows.  The only sources of light are the small status indicators on the computer banks, a couple of flashlights they brought in and the workstation in the center of the room that Brother Adder is using to hack the system.  Brother Fang swallows nervously.  The computer room is big as it is, two stories tall with a big walkway along the wall at the upper level that houses additional computer banks.  It seems even bigger because the light from the flashlights does not reach all the way to the ceiling – it's completely invisible.  The upper-level walkway is just far enough from the flashlights to be swathed in shadows, which seem to move when he's not looking right at them.  He keeps thinking that someone is up there, waiting to pounce on him.  A stupid notion, because they've already gotten rid of (in one way or another) all the techs and security people who were working in here when they arrived.  There's only one door into this room, with two guards flanking it, and six more in the corridor outside.  There's a big ventilation grate in the middle of the ceiling, but there's virtually no chance of anyone coming in that way.  They can't be ambushed in here.  That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

"Ah!  I've got the files!" Brother Adder announces triumphantly.  He clicks a few keys, transferring the data to the disk drive.  When the transfer is finished, he retrieves the disk and puts it into his satchel.  And just in time, too – as soon as he pockets the disk, the fuel cell gives out and the computer dies again.

"Good," Brother Fang says.  "Let's get out of here before we're caught."

From somewhere in the darkness above him, an unfamiliar voice says, "Too late."

Brother Fang finds out that he was wrong about that ventilation grate.  It comes crashing down on top of Brother Boa, followed shortly by a lithe figure in black.  A figure that Brother Fang recognizes in a single chilling instant.

_Oh, shit…_

Before he can raise his pistol and get off a shot, Batman throws something at him.  It's a bolo, which whips around his arms and torso, forcing him to drop the gun.  Brother Fang loses his balance, staggers a few steps trying to regain it and fails to do so.  He falls over backward, hitting the back of his head on the corner of one of the workstations.  The painful sensation is the last thing he feels before he loses consciousness.

~***~

            _That's two down,  and two to go._  Terry leaps into the air and does a back handspring to dodge the energy bolts from the guns of the two remaining Kobra guards.  He spins around in midair, extends his arms and flicks his wrists in a certain way.  A flat metal object shaped like a large arrowhead slips into each hand from compact magazines on his forearms.  They unfold into batarangs almost as soon as they reach his fingers, and he tosses them at the Kobra goons – or, rather, at the pistols in their hands.  All of this takes less than a second.  Terry's aim is good, and both of them are disarmed.  Before they can recover their guns, he springs forward and kicks one of them in the face.  The second he elbows in the jaw.  They go down like a couple of axed trees.

            But he can hear that there's a bunch more of them in the corridor outside, and they're closing in fast.  He leaps up to the walkway above and pulls himself over the railing just before half a dozen Kobras burst in through the door.  The shadowy walkway makes a good hiding place – they can't see him, but with his night vision (light enhancement, augmented by infrared and an ultrasonic broadcast/receiver system), he can pick them out just fine.  The bewildered soldiers fan out around the room to look for them, but not one of them thinks to look up.  Big mistake.

            Once he judges that they've spread out far enough, he makes his move.  He leaps from the balcony and lands on the closest of the Kobras, slamming him to the floor.  The others turn around and start shooting at him, but he's already moving, leaping and twisting through the air with expertise that would make an Olympic gymnast go green with envy.  As he's landing, the remaining five Kobras move in to surround him, putting away their guns and drawing knives instead.  They aren't stupid enough to try and shoot him when they're all that close together.

            After that, it's a nice old-fashioned scrap.  Terry deals out a lot of damage and takes some himself – though not, fortunately, from the Kobras' knives.  He gets kicked in the chest, and some part of him guesses that his ribs are bruised or maybe even cracked, but he barely even feels it.  Partly it's because he's taken a lot worse, and he's used to it, but mostly because he's just too worked up for it to hurt.  But though he may feel only dully the blows he takes, he feels and sees and hears everything else around him with perfect clarity.  Every dance with danger, every brush with death, makes him feel more alive than anything else does, and makes the rest of the world more real.  Every single time gives him a fresh thrill and a reminder of why he puts on the suit and goes looking for trouble almost every night.  It's times like this when he _knows _that, despite all the difficulties that come with being Batman, it's more than worth it.

            He brings down the last of the Kobras with a solid blow to the temple.  For a moment he smiles to himself, but then something moves in the corner of his eye.  He turns his head and sees one of them running for the door.  It's the one who was working at the computer, who still has the disk containing the files he hacked out of the database.  He's crawled out from under the fallen ventilator grating and grabbed a flashlight on the way.  Terry just catches him darting out the door.

            "Slag it," Terry mutters to himself as he springs forward to pursue the fleeing criminal.  He has to make sure that the guy doesn't escape with the disk.

            The Kobra is surprisingly quick, but he's easy to follow.  Terry can hear the sound of his feet on the metal floor and see the beam of his flashlight up ahead.  But that 'ahead' is always composed of several meters, or one turn of the corridor – Terry can't get close enough to take him down.  He bolts through a door, and Terry thinks that he's finally got the dreg, except that the door leads into a stairwell.  Terry follows just in time to hear a door slam shut on the level above him.  He doesn't waste time with the stairs; just uses his jets to get up there and exits into the corridor.  The Kobra is just turning into a hallway to Terry's right.  Terry grits his teeth in frustration and heads after him.

            Suddenly the lights flicker to life – they must have gotten the power back up.  Compensators in the cowl's visual equipment keep Terry from being blinded.  A finger pressed to his right temple for a second deactivates all his night-vision systems.  He doesn't need them anymore.

            There's another change, too.  This part of the building, unlike the utility and storage floor below, is not empty.  There are some people here, mostly bewildered scientists, mechanics and clerks, who flatten themselves out against the wall to avoid a collision with the Kobra or Terry and stare after them with wide, frightened eyes as they run past.  He doesn't see anyone who looks like a security guard.  Probably this place depended mostly on its electronic security systems.  The folks in charge will hire a lot more guards after today, that's for sure.

            Terry hears frightened screaming in the corridor ahead.  He whips around the corner, skids to a stop.  The reason for the screaming becomes clear in an instant.  The Kobra has taken a hostage from among a group of workers here.

            She's a small woman, and looks smaller when compared the big green-garbed bulk of the Kobra who's got her in his grip.  He's holding her against his chest, facing outward, keeping her locked in place with his left arm while he holds a knife to her throat with his right hand.  The blade glitters against the woman's milk-chocolate skin.  Her hair is divided into a multitude of small braids, one of which is being pressed against her neck by the knife.  Contrary to Terry's expectations, she looks more indignant than scared.

            "Stay back!" the Kobra barks, hoarsely because he is out of breath from the run, "Or I kill her!"  He presses his knife against the woman's neck for emphasis.  A trickle of blood appears, and rolls down her skin to stain her pale-gray suit jacket.  For a moment he sees the girl from last night…

            _No.  Think about now_.  And think he does, desperately wracking his brains, trying to come up with a way out of this situation. 


	7. Chapter Six : Small Victories

            There are four other people here, one engineer, one researcher and two secretaries, but they're all too scared to make a move – they just dart wild-eyed glances back and forth between Terry and the Kobra.  Terry can't think of any good options right now, so he decides to try negotiation, which doesn't usually work but is always worth a try.  At the very least, it may buy him some time.  "The cops are going to be here any minute," he points out.  "If you let her go and cooperate with them, they'll go easier on you."

            As he expected, the tactic doesn't work.  "_No!_" the Kobra growls, backing up a few steps, dragging his hapless hostage along with him.  "I'm leaving, and I'm taking _this_ one with me for insurance.  Stay back!"

            Then the woman slumps, going limp in his grip.  Her head falls forward.  Terry thinks she's fainted, but suddenly the Kobra screams and drops his knife.  She hasn't fainted at all – she was just pretending to so that she could sink her teeth into her captor's knife hand.  After the knife has fallen on the floor, she viciously stomps on the arch of the Kobra's foot with the heel of her shoe, then jabs her elbow into his solar plexus.  He lets go of her and reels backwards, gasping for breath.

            Terry knows an opportunity when he sees one.  He's on the Kobra in a second, gets him pinned to the floor, and pulls they guy's arms behind his back so he can secure them with a pair of handcuffs from his belt.  The employees who were frozen in terror are now cheering and applauding.  A couple of security guards arrive, thank him profusely and take the Kobra off his hands.  Terry opens the Kobra's satchel, takes out the disk with the files he took from the mainframe computer, and hands it over to one of the guards.  "Here.  He was trying to swipe some of your research files."  The guard nods and takes the disk.

            Before he leaves, Terry turns to the Kobra's former hostage.  "Are you all right?" he asks her as the security guards take the sullen but unresisting Kobra away.

            She grins at him.  "Yes, thank you.  Those self-defense classes really paid off."  Terry can't help but smile - just a little - at the way she says it.

            Just then the lights start flickering, and then go out completely.  Looks like whatever damage the Kobras did to the power system has not been completely fixed.  Terry's night vision systems, responding to the drop in the ambient light level, switch on just as the other people present utter exclamations of shock and, in one case, a frustrated curse.

            This may be an annoyance for the people around him, but for Terry it's a perfect opportunity to make a discreet exit – one of the practices that Batman is famous for.  He switches on his camo and slips out, just before the backup generators start working and the lights come back to life.

~***~

            A few minutes after dinner is over, Max goes to her computer to check her messages.  She's got an e-mail from her cousin in Chicago and a message from one of the listserv groups she's on.  After reading both of them, she checks to see if there's anything new in her Batman news file.

            This news file is her particular manifestation of a habit that she picked up from her mother's father.  Grandpa had been a cop back in the days when Bruce Wayne was still Batman, and had collected newspaper articles about him the way some people collect trading cards.  He'd kept them in a set of three-ring binders, carefully organized by date and laminated to loose-leaf pages for durability.  In those binders he had every Batman article that the ­_New York Times_, the _Daily Planet_ and the _Gotham Chronicle_ had ever printed, from the beginning of the vigilante's career right up to the last editorial concerning his mysterious, and presumably permanent, disappearance.  Max's grandpa had passed his fascination on to her, and when he died he'd left her his collection, which she keeps in a box on the floor of her closet.

            When Batman returned after a twenty-year absence, she started collecting articles the way her grandfather used to do.  Except that she didn't use the same methods – instead, she wrote a search program that would find Batman articles from certain sources (such as the electronic newspapers her family subscribed to, as well as a few other sites) and put them in a file.  Where her grandpa had had a collection of binders, she had a single disk, but she organized it by the same principle.  After a couple of months she had gone a step further by coding a program that would help her discover Batman's secret identity.  It had worked, albeit not exactly the way she'd expected it to.

            Although she now knows more about Batman than any reporter, she still collects articles on him.  There are a couple of new pieces in her file.  One of them is particularly interesting, because it fills in the details of a situation that Terry only hinted at yesterday.

            The article is a small one, only a few paragraphs, saying that Tanya Wooten, 13, is in critical condition at the Bartholomew M. Swift Memorial Hospital after being wounded by a stray bullet on the night of May 31st around 11:30 PM.  Apparently she was in the wrong place at the wrong time – across the street from a pawnshop that a group of Jokerz were trying to rob.  Batman had appeared on the scene, they'd started shooting at him, and Tanya had been hit.  Terry had brought her to the hospital, where the doctors had identified her and called her parents.  The Jokerz involved are, of course, behind bars and awaiting trial.  Max is a little frustrated because the article does not say why the girl happened to be out so late at night, nor does it include a quote from her parents, but it does fill in most of the gaps.  And it has some information that Terry might be interested in.

            Max certainly has to tell Terry about this, but she wonders whether she should wait until tomorrow or try to contact him right now.  It's a little past seven-thirty, which means that he's probably on duty already.  She decides that this is important enough to warrant calling him as soon as possible.  Max can't talk to him through his suit's transmitter, the way Mr. Wayne does – that's off-limits, except in a major emergency – but she _can_ call up the Batmobile.  As she opens directories to reach the appropriate program (which is disguised as a humble .DLL file and password-protected just in case), she decides that she shouldn't leave a message if he's not there – she'll just call him back later.  This isn't the kind of thing you can leave a message about.

~***~

            Terry's already accomplished quite a lot, but of course the old man isn't going to let him off this early in the evening.  So now he's just patrolling in the Batmobile, looking for any trouble spots.  He hasn't found anything yet, but then again it hasn't been very long since he left VibranTech.  Even if this is a quiet night, he'll have to deal with two or three "incidents."  On an average night it's usually between four and seven.

            Most of the time he enjoys piloting the Batmobile (who wouldn't?), but right now it doesn't occupy enough of his mind to keep him from returning, over and over again, to subjects he really doesn't want to think about.  The way his mother's been hinting that she wants him to get a different job.  Dana's breaking up with him.  And most of all, what happened last night…

             The console starts beeping – someone is calling him.  He looks at the communications screen, which displays the caller's number.  It's Max.

            He hits the answer button and the screen switches to display Max, as seen by the little camera lens on top of her computer screen.  "Terry?"  There is, he notices, a note of anxiety in her voice.  "I found something about that girl from last night."

            Terry feels his heart lurch in his ribcage.  He thinks back to his conversation with Max earlier today, trying to remember how much he had said.  All he'd told her was that someone had died – nothing about who or how.  But he isn't at all surprised that Max found out more about it on her own.  She's very good at that stuff.  "Go on," he says, trying to keep his voice calm.

            "Her name is Tanya Wooten," Max continues.  "I just wanted to tell you, she's still alive at the hospital."  Terry feels a prickly wave of hope and disbelief sweep through him.  Then the other shoe drops.  "But she's still critical.  They don't know if she'll make it."  That's Max – always honest, even when it hurts.  Still, he's glad that she told him.

            Now that Max has delivered her message, she looks lost for words.  Terry tries to think of something to say, but all he can come up with is "Thanks.  If you find anything else…"  He trails off.

            Max nods.  "I'll tell you."  Terry hears a faint sound, coming from her side of the link.  It's somebody knocking on her bedroom door, and a voice – which he recognizes as her father's – calling something, although he can't make out the words.  Max turns her head, looking in the direction of the sound, then turns back to Terry.  "I've gotta go.  Talk to you later."  She taps a key on her computer and the screen goes black again.

            Terry takes a deep breath and sighs.  He doesn't know whether he should be optimistic and hope that the girl will make it, or be realistic and resign himself to the fact that, in all likelihood, she won't.  At least he has the comfort of knowing that he brought her a slim chance.  It occurs to him to notice that, although Wayne was certainly watching that whole exchange through the suit's transmitter, he isn't saying anything about it.  He hasn't said anything about the girl since last night.  Maybe he's waiting for Terry to bring it up, or maybe he's just saying nothing because he doesn't know what to say.

            He hasn't been thinking about it for very long when a light on the console comes on, indicating that someone is broadcasting an alert on the police radio frequency.  The light is followed by the sound of a voice couched in the crackle of static.  "_This is unit 532 reporting a robbery in progress on 1657 Fourth Street, upper level.  I repeat, a robbery in progress on…"_

Terry's already adjusted his course to head for the beleaguered officer.  Most of his mind is engaged in the task of getting there as quickly as possible, but some small part of it is glad for the distraction. 


	8. Chapter Seven : Painted Faces

            _Ah, good afternoon.  Have you got any news for me?_

**The police still don't know who's responsible for the power failure last night.  Commissioner Gordon said she'll call you when she has some information.**

            _Well, it hasn't been that long – and Kobras are notoriously uncooperative when it comes to revealing information.  And it's quite possible that none of them know who the saboteur was at all._

            **What makes you think so?**

_You might say that they take the 'need-to-know basis' concept to an extreme.  They're very careful about how much information they give to their lower-ranking operatives, so that if one of them is captured and interrogated his confession won't do serious damage to the organization._

            **I understand that.  What I meant was, how do you know they operate that way?**

            _'Know your enemy.'_

**Of course.  Speaking of that, do you think this was just Kobra's project, or…?**__

_            I don't know.  But I'm going to err on the side of caution and assume that somebody hired them, and that whoever it was is not going to give up after one try.  We were lucky this time: Kobra's sloppy work caught Batman's attention.  But I can't depend on luck.  I'm going to hire more security personnel, and I want you to see if we can improve our automatic systems.  After all, you're highly qualified._

            **In getting past security systems, not designing them.**

            _Exactly.  And one other thing…I think it's about time to start up our other little operation as well._

            **I thought you were going to hold off on that for a while longer.**

            _I've changed my mind.  I think everyone's about as ready as they can be._

            **What about the JLU?**

            _What about them?_

            **They weren't too happy when you suggested it to them.**

            _Well, that's why we're doing this ourselves.  And I think that once they get used to the idea, they'll be glad for the extra help._

~***~

            Belatedly, George Seerwell realizes that it wasn't a good idea to try and take a shortcut home.

            He'd been advised to go around this neighborhood instead of through it.  And for two years, he had done just that, walking the extra six blocks necessary to avoid passing though here on his commute between his apartment building and the nearest metro station.  Tonight, though, he'd figured that hey, if he walked quickly he could make it in ten minutes.  What could possibly happen to him in only ten minutes?

            Now that there are five Jokerz shadowing him, he can imagine a _lot_ of things that might happen in ten minutes.  A lot of very _unpleasant_ things.

            Seerwell has been trying to stay calm, to keep from looking over his shoulder.  The Jokerz are walking just a little faster than he is, catching up to him bit by bit.  He's wondering whether he ought to run or not.  If he keeps walking, they'll certainly overtake him.  But he doesn't think he could outrun them, and if he tries to they will certainly do him harm.  His stomach muscles are tight with anxiety, and despite the coolness of the evening air, he is sweating. 

            At this point they're only about meter behind him.  Seerwell can hear whispering punctuated with occasional giggles and the jingling sound of little bells.  The sensation caused by their close proximity to him is almost strong enough to push him over.

            _That's it,_ he decides.  _I'm going to run.  It's the only chance I have of getting out alive_.  But just as he's about to sprint forward, a couple of the Jokerz step smoothly in front of him.  He looks back and forth frantically, searching for an opening, but there isn't one – he's completely surrounded.

            There are three boys and two girls in this group, all looking to be between the ages of fifteen and nineteen.  Although they are each sporting a different outfit and a different pattern of colors on their grease-painted faces, they're all wearing the same unfriendly grin.  One of the girls, the one with a starburst of blue hair and a black ensemble composed of leather, lace, fishnets and metal studs, has either filed her teeth or been Spliced with the genes of some nasty carnivore – either way, her pearly-whites are unnaturally pointy, and made all the more unsettling by the angles of the jack-o'-lantern design painted on her face in blue and white.  Seerwell grips the handle of his briefcase so hard that the knuckles of his left hand start to hurt.

            "Good evening, sir," says one of the two standing in front of him, his voice like a razor hidden in a candied apple.  He's very tall and thin, with long red hair and a 'sad clown' face, complete with a big blue teardrop under his left eye.  His friends laugh uproariously as he favors Seerwell with an exaggerated courtly bow.  His purple coat and blue-and-red striped trousers fit him as well as a rich businessman's custom-made suit.

            "It's certainly a nice night, isn't it?" the one standing next to him remarks in a surprisingly deep, rumbling voice.  This guy is obviously the muscle of the group – judging from the look of his arms, left completely visible by his sleeveless shirt, he could lift a block of cement as easily as a piece of paper.  The stark skull design painted on his face is made no less intimidating by the red foam clown nose in the center of it, or the tiny green bowler hat he is wearing.

            "I…umm.  Y-yes, it c-certainly is," Seerwell stutters.  He clenches his teeth together, to keep them from chattering.  He jumps as one of the girls goes into a giggling fit.  The little bells on her fool's hat jingle madly.  She looks almost cute, with her black-and-white tank top and skirt, her face painted in the generic circus-clown fashion and her little white kid gloves edged with lace.  But there's a menacing note in her high-pitched giggles.

            "Summer's so _nice_, don't you think?" the red-haired Joker says.  "Warm weather, no school…"

            "What's so special about that?"  The grating voice comes from the last Joker, whose hair and clothes are a riot of fluorescent colors.  The black-and-white checkerboard pattern on his face is twisted up by his sneer.  "We never go to school anyway."  His buddies roar with laughter, a lot more than the joke is worth.

            Then the red-haired one – he must be the leader – gets a serious look on his face and makes a swift motion with his hand.  The laughter is abruptly cut off.  Seerwell is transfixed by his accusatory gaze, like a deer in headlights.  "Why aren't you _laughing_?" the redhead growls, jabbing his finger into Seerwell's chest.

            "Maybe," says a new voice from the shadows of an adjacent alley, "Because it isn't funny?"

            Seerwell and the Jokerz turn their heads to look at the speaker, who calmly steps out of the shadows and into the better illumination provided by the streetlights.  It's odd that they didn't notice her before – it's not like she blends in.  She's of medium height, with a flaring mane of white hair (or maybe it's a headdress) framing her oval face.  Her face is painted, like those of the Jokerz, but in the style of a kabuki mask.  Her torso and appendages are protected by what looks like light Japanese armor painted in crimson red lacquer.  Seerwell can see a pair of pointy, canine ears in her white mane.  She carries what looks like a bamboo staff, as long as she is tall.  Her stance, back straight and feet slightly apart, is somehow both casual and alert.  A strange person, to say the least, but even stranger than the rest of her are her solid green eyes, which betray no emotion.

            The Jokerz stare at her in bewilderment for a couple of seconds, until the big one breaks the silence.  "What are _you_ supposed to be?"

            The woman's lips draw back to reveal her gleaming teeth in a grin that is more threatening than anything even the Jokerz can manage.  "Trouble," she says, by way of reply.  And then all hell breaks loose.

            Seerwell doesn't see most of it, because he's covering his eyes in abject terror.  But he does hear the sounds – angry yelling, painful yelps and the unmistakable sound of that bamboo staff _thud_ding into flesh.  Although the fight doesn't last more than two minutes, in his frightened mind it seems to last for years.  Finally, the noise gives way to the sound of running footsteps and pained groans.  Seerwell opens his eyes and sees that two of the Jokerz, the red-haired one and the girl in the fool's hat, are running off as fast as their legs can carry them.  The other three are lying stunned on the ground.

            He realizes that the strange woman is not pursuing them – instead, she is looking at him.  When he meets her eyes, she smiles, but in a friendly way.  "Umm," he says, "Thank you…er…what's your name?"

            She nods.  "Kitsune.  Do you live near here?"

            Seerwell blinks.  "I…um…yes, I do," he answers.

            "Okay.  You'd better get home," she advises.  "I'll take care of these dregs."  She pokes at the big Joker with the end of her staff.

            "I'll do that," Seerwell assures her.  "Thanks again."  Feeling awkward, he starts walking in the direction he was taking before the Jokerz assaulted him.  He's learned his lesson – he'll never goes through this neighborhood again.

            After he's walked about three-quarters of a block, he hears police sirens approaching and it occurs to him to look over his shoulder.  A police car is heading for the three Jokerz Kitsune took out.  They are sitting back to back to back on the sidewalk, tied up like a package with a thin white cord.  Of Kitsune herself, however, there is no sign.

~***~

            As far as Terry is concerned, summer vacation does not mean a break from education – it just means that the nature of that education will be different.  That is to say, he will be learning from Mr. Wayne, by running whatever training exercises the man can cook up.  It was the same way last summer, although he's not going to be spending so much time on it as he did then, since his boss now has his company to attend to as well.*  Of course, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Terry's training days are just when he works full-time instead of part-time.

            Bruce Wayne's curriculum may be far more physically and mentally demanding than that of his high school teachers, but it's more useful than most of the stuff Terry learned in high school and far more interesting than anything he's ever encountered in a classroom.  Wayne's schedule also allows Terry to sleep later (and therefore more), but that's probably just because he isn't a morning person – unless you stretch the definition of the term to include people who stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 AM on a regular basis.

            Right now, Terry's riding in an empty car on the metro, since there aren't a lot of people on the trains at this hour of the day.  But he's too preoccupied to enjoy the rare privilege of having the place to himself.  The cloud of troubled thoughts that has hovered over him since yesterday is still there, and though part of him knows that it will eventually dissipate or at least shrink to a more manageable size – life goes on, after all – he doesn't really believe that things will get any better.  It's all he can do to cling to the desperate hope that they won't get worse.

            Absorbed in his thoughts, he hasn't been paying attention to the news screen at the far end of the car.  When the newscaster mentions the name 'Batman,' though, it snaps him out of his reverie like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head.  Not because of the word itself, but because of the context in which it is placed.

            "_It looks like Batman is no longer Gotham's only costumed crusader for justice…_" 

~***~

            Terry's so frantic to get down to the Batcave and tell his boss the news that he almost rushes by Mr. Wayne without noticing him.  He is actually sitting in an armchair in the parlor.  When Terry sees Mr. Wayne and skids to a stop, the latter lowers the book he was reading so that he can shoot a quizzical glance at his protégé.

            "Did you see the news?" Terry asks breathlessly.

            "Good morning to you too," Mr. Wayne says sardonically.  "Yes, I did see the news."  He closes his book, places it on the table beside him, stands and picks up his cane, which was leaning against the side of the chair.  "I thought you'd be more enthusiastic."

            _And _I _thought that you'd be more worried about it_, Terry thinks to himself.  "Let's just say I think that it's just a _little_ too good to be true ."

            The corners of Wayne's mouth turn up in a small smile.  Terry realizes that he has just passed a test that he didn't know he was taking.  "They don't seem to be a problem yet.  Although it _is_ a little too early to draw any conclusions."  He starts walking towards the grandfather clock that serves as the entrance to the Batcave.

            Terry follows him.  "_They_?  I thought there was only one."

            "In Gotham, yes.  But more of them have appeared in other cities."

            "Oh."  The report Terry had seen was on the NewsByte program, which only covers events in Gotham.  He guesses that Wayne checked out a few other sources.  "How many?"

            Mr. Wayne opens the face of the grandfather clock.  "Six, including this one.  The others are in Philadelphia, Miami, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles."  He starts walking down the stairs.  Terry follows suit and closes the door behind him.  "Although I won't be surprised if a few more turn up soon.  All the information I could find is on the computer."

            "Any idea who they're working for?" Terry asks him.  "Does anyone in the JLU know?"

            Wayne shakes his head as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.  "As soon as the news came out, they made it clear that they aren't connected to these people.  They said the same thing when I asked them myself."  He reaches the chair in front of the computer and sits down, then taps a key to wake the system from standby mode.

            "Huh.  I guess they don't like this either," Terry observes.  "What are they doing about it?"

            Mr. Wayne turns to look Terry in the eye.  There's a hint of worry on his face.  "The only thing anyone _can_ do, at this point.  Wait and see."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

* This _is _consistent with the canon: Paxton Powers was arrested in _King's Ransom_, and we learn that Bruce Wayne took control of his company again in _Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker_.  In the movie it was referred to as Wayne Enterprises, as opposed to Wayne-Powers, so I'm using the same name here.  I know some fanfic authors forget about this or don't know about it – I don't hold that against them.  The only reason I know is because I have the movie and I've taped most of the series and watched all the stuff at least three times.  I'm such a geek. ;)


	9. Chapter Eight : Risks

            Commissioner Barbara Gordon removes her glasses, squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose.  She's just spent three hours in the interrogation room with one of the Kobras she arrested the night before last.  Before that she spent a ridiculous amount of time going through the same song-and-dance with his cronies, a time that, despite her best efforts and those of her staff, proved to be almost completely unproductive.  Most of the Kobras were too stubborn to say anything, meeting her questions and statements with insults, threats, and declarations of loyalty to their organization.  Those who _were_ persuaded to volunteer information had very little to give, and much of it useless – one of them gave her the location of a hideout, but by the time her people got there it had already been abandoned, and all equipment, data and other potential sources of information had been removed or destroyed.  And the appearance of Kitsune, as she called herself, provided yet another mystery for Barbara to be nervous about.

            At least she'd managed to get _one_ piece of information out of those grueling hours in the interrogation room.  Kobra had been paid to attempt the VibranTech heist.  The one who had told her this, though, did not know who had done the hiring or how much money they had put down for the job.  His higher-ups, in the typical Kobra way of doing things, had left him in the dark.  All she knew was that VibranTech would probably be hit again.  It wasn't much, but she'd promised the president of the company that she'd call in with any information she got.

            The commissioner puts her glasses back on, making sure they are straight, then smoothes her hair with her hands.  She presses one of the buttons on the console set into her desk, and a blank vidscreen rises from the desk in front of her.  Then she dials a number on the keypad.  It's a special extension that will go directly to the company president's phone instead of being routed to the secretary first.  The VibranTech logo, which consists of a picture of the company's name on a shining metal plaque (it looks sort of like an elongated car license plate), appears on the screen.  The word 'CALLING…' blinks on and off beneath it for a few seconds before the call goes through and the screen changes to a different picture.

            Now she can see the person on the other side of the connection – Natalie Milou, the president of VibranTech industries.  She is seated at her desk, part of which is within the vidphone camera's field of view.  Behind her chair is a sliding glass door, and beyond that a mid-sized terrace containing a small garden.  Even farther away are the rooftops of Gotham City, made hazy by heat and distance, beneath a cloudless blue sky.  Ms. Milou herself is a small woman with dark skin and long hair arranged in tiny braids, some of which are pulled back into a sort of ponytail by a pearl-white scarf.  Barbara knows that she is somewhere in her late twenties, but her diminutive size and smooth, round face make her look even younger.  But the way she behaves, and the way she carries herself, give her an aura of power that is not in any way diminished by her lack of years or height.

             "Good afternoon, Commissioner," she says, with a polite smile that seems to have some genuine friendliness behind it.  "I hope you have some good news.  It's been in rather short supply around here of late."  She seems remarkably unconcerned, considering the circumstances, but perhaps she's just treating the whole thing a healthy sense of humor.

            "Good afternoon, Ms. Milou.  I've got some news for you, but I'm afraid it's not the kind you've been hoping for."  At this point, Barbara senses a change in things – there may or may not have been a flicker of motion at the edge of her vision, but in any case that isn't what touched it off.  It's something more subtle than that, specifically the familiar non-sound of someone trying not to make any noise.  For a fraction of a second, she is alarmed, but she recognizes the texture of the deliberate silence and realizes that it does not signal a threat.  She chooses to ignore it, for the time being.

            On the other end of the line, Milou's pleasant smile changes into a serious, slightly disappointed expression.  "Well," she sighs resignedly, "In this case, bad news is better than no news at all, I suppose."

            Barbara nods.  "Kobra was hired to steal research and design data from your plant.  But the agents we have in custody are too low on the ladder to know who's responsible."

            There is a short break in the conversation as Milou thinks this over.  "The possibility had occurred to me, though I hoped that it would not be the case.  Do you think this will happen again?"

            "Possibly," Barbara says, "Although it certainly won't be Kobra next time, and whoever it is will use different tactics.  Increasing your security force will help, but you should also check to see if any of your employees have a criminal record.  And any computers containing R&D information should be taken off the Net, if they haven't been already."  She knows that Milou may not like being given advice about her company's security arrangements – most highly placed executives don't like it – but Barbara's position carries with it the obligation to give such advice, so she does.

            This particular executive, however, seems to take it more gracefully - though not gratefully.  "Sound advice.  Thank you for your help, and please let me know if you find anything else."

            "I will," Barbara assures her.  "Call me if you make any progress on your end."

            Milou gives Barbara a respectful nod, which the latter returns, before she ends the call.  The vidphone screen slides back into her desk.

            Barbara sits back in her chair and places her hands on the armrests.  "I'm not even going to ask how you got in.  But next time you want some information from me, you should try asking instead of eavesdropping."

            Across the desk and a little to her right, Batman fades into view.  "Sorry.  I didn't want to interrupt."

            "I know you didn't want to attract attention, but you don't have to sneak around when I'm the only one in here.  It doesn't work, anyway," she reminds him.  Barbara wonders, briefly, if he might be doing it as a sort of personal challenge, trying to perfect his skill to the point where she won't detect him.  That doesn't seem to fit with the rest of Terry's personality, but it _does_ fit the personality he takes on when he's wearing the suit.  He's not the Batman of old, but he's not himself either.  "What did you want to know?"

            "First, what you've found out about VibranTech – but I don't need to ask you that now," he says.

            "And second, what I know about this Kitsune who just turned up," Barbara guesses.  Batman nods.  "Nothing that you don't already know.  She seems to be keeping her distance from us.  I'm concerned about her – and I know you are - but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt.  My people are going to leave her alone, unless she crosses the line."  They both know that she did not say that when she was interviewed by reporters – at least, not directly.  All she'd said was that the GPD would be keeping a lookout for this mysterious woman, and that they would do everything they could to make sure that she did not do any harm to the citizens of Gotham.  Barbara is also keenly and awkwardly aware of the fact that she did not adopt the same laissez-faire attitude towards Batman a year ago, but the working relationship she has with him now is one of the reasons for her current policy towards this new vigilante.

            Fortunately Batman is tactful enough to pass over both topics without a word.  "I'll look for her, when I can.  She might talk to me."

            "Maybe," Barbara says.  "If she does, let her know that we have no problem with her as long as she behaves."

            Batman nods.  "There's…one more thing I want to ask you," he says.  Barbara can tell, from the sound of his voice, that he's uncomfortable with whatever it is, but really needs to resolve it.  "About a girl named Tanya Wooten.  She was hit by a stray bullet three days ago.  Is she…?" he trails off.

            Barbara only has to search her memory for a couple of seconds to connect facts to the name.  The department took an interest in the girl's condition, so they would know whether they should charge the Joker who wounded her for assault with a deadly weapon or manslaughter.  The commissioner herself took an interest because of Batman's involvement in the case, so she knows the answer to his question without having to check the files.

            Unfortunately, answering him will mean being the bearer of bad news for the second time today.

            "I'm sorry," she says gravely.  "She died this morning.  From complications due to severe blood loss."  Barbara's delivered the message scores of times, maybe hundreds, but it always breaks her heart. 

            Batman lowers his eyes, rests his hands on the surface of her desk, and Barbara remembers, with a painful feeling, that the person wearing the suit is only eighteen years old, and for all intents and purposes, still a rookie.  After a moment, he looks up at her again.  "Thank you," he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

            There is a long, awkward pause.  "Do you want me to say something to her family?" she asks gently.

             He pulls his hands back from the desk.  "I don't know," he says.  Then, "Tell them…I'm sorry that I couldn't save her."

            Barbara nods.  She'll have to elaborate on that when she actually talks to the Wootens, but she knew that she'd have to when she asked the question.  After all, she was doing it more for his benefit than for anything else.  "I'll tell them."  She doesn't know how she should continue.  If he weren't wearing the suit, she would get up and walk to the other side of the desk, maybe put a comforting hand on his shoulder since they know each other well enough for that to be appropriate, but she can't even imagine making such a gesture of sympathy for Batman.  It's just not…well, it's _not_.

            "It wasn't your fault," she says softly.  He's probably heard it from Bruce already, but she knows from personal experience that it has to be said more than once.  It has to be repeated as many times as it takes.  "You did everything you could."

            "It wasn't enough."

            For a couple of seconds, Barbara isn't sure how she should reply.  "Sometimes it isn't."  She stands up.  "But that's how it is for us.  That's the one of the risks we take."

             Slowly, he walks over to one of the windows at the end of the wall behind her desk and looks out over the city.  Barbara has some vague idea of what he might be thinking, but it's not something she can put into words.

            Suddenly he turns to her.  "I should go.  He's expecting me to be back soon."  They have a sort of tacit agreement not to say Bruce Wayne's name here, or at least not in that context.  It wouldn't be too much of a problem if the police commissioner were seen talking to Batman, since her father had a working relationship with the original, but there were certain things that it was not safe to discuss in the office, since anyone might walk in.

            Barbara does not take offense at this rather ungraceful end to the conversation.  She understands his state of mind, and that he is used to making a discreet exit when nobody's watching, something that she has just asked him not to do.  So she just nods, goes to the window, and enters the security code to open the window lock.  She pulls a lever and the pane slides open.  The heat and city noise from outside hit her and jar her senses a little bit.  She steps back to let Batman pass. 

            He steps up to the window, looks her in the eyes for a moment – she can't see his eyes behind the mask, but something about the look still unnerves her – then he nods a farewell, presses a button on his belt and fades from sight.  There is a momentary breeze as he passes by and exits through the window.  Barbara slides it closed again.

            She stares through the glass for a minute, imagining that she can see Batman moving away, gliding from building to building or perhaps leaping from scaffold to causeway to rooftop and so on.  But she can't really see him, so her imaginings are nothing more than that.  With a sigh, she turns away from the window and goes back to her desk.__


	10. Chapter Nine : By Candlelight

            When he's done patrolling for the night, Terry doesn't follow his usual routine by going back home.  There's something else he needs to do.

            He bows his head as he walks up the steps to the doors of St. Catherine's Cathedral, not exactly from a sense of respect or deference but because being here makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable.  The McGinnis family is Catholic, religious enough to have the kids baptized, go to Sunday school and go through First Communion, but none of them are really observant.  Once in a while they put on good clothes and go to services on major holidays.  And, last year, they came here when Warren McGinnis died.

            After Terry reaches the top of the steps, he looks up at the elaborately carved walls and the great round stained-glass window.  His eyes linger on it for a moment, then continue upwards to the upper reaches of the twin spires that flank the arched doorways here at the lower end of the nave.  Spotlights bring every joint, every carving and tile on the great fingers of stone, into stark relief.  Although the old building is dwarfed by the great skyscrapers that surround it, and the crisscrossing causeways and walkways and tracks between them, the venerable structure is too glorious and too significant to look small.  It helps that the airspace directly above the cathedral grounds is clear – a city ordinance, put into place in response to the lobbying efforts and influence of a number of concerned citizens (including Bruce Wayne), guarantees that 'historically significant' buildings will not be boxed in by tangles of twenty-first-century construction.

            The cathedral is open at all hours, and though that may not seem like a good policy for a religious institution that does not have any aggressive security systems and will not let its security force use deadly weapons, even the most belligerent Jokerz and notorious professional thieves consider it to be off-limits.  Although that may be attributable mostly to a combination of the security sensor grid around the periphery of the grounds and the police station just down the block, one cannot help but get the impression that its status is something of a deterrent as well.  Terry's had to fight off criminals in a lot of places in this city, but never here.  And, as far as he is aware, this place has not been the site of any criminal activity for the past decade at least.

            For a moment, he thinks he should just abandon the notion that brought him here, turn around, and go home.  After all, he's wearing his street clothes, there are no services going on, and it's an ungodly hour (no pun intended) to be out.  On top of that, he can remember many occasions, most of them during the Sunday mornings of his childhood, when he denounced religion as 'stupid.'  In all likelihood, there are many more such incidences that he just doesn't remember.  Some of his later expressions of anti-religious sentiments, which took place in the more recent past, were a lot quieter and at least marginally more articulate but no less disrespectful.  A more serious concern, perhaps, is that he has done a lot of things that are, in a word, sinful.  And though he has repented the immorality of his past, he has not done so in a religious context.  He can't remember if he ever went to confession, and he can't do that now, because even if he left out everything having to do with Batman it would take a very, very long time to list all the shameful acts he has committed.  Not to mention how long it would take to do penance for them…

            But his need for closure overcomes his embarrassment and guilt.  He steps through the open doors and into the foyer.  He realizes that he has been holding his breath, and lets it out in a sigh of relief.  Then he continues on into the great vaulted hall of the nave, feeling overwhelmed, despite himself, by the sheer size and atmosphere of the place.  There are a few other people here, a handful of late-night (or really early-morning) worshippers one or two members of the clergy and a few security guards, but the place is mostly empty.  He starts walking toward the little Virgin Mary chapel up in the transept.  Each time his foot comes down on the tile floor the sound seems to fill the whole building, and the echoes it produces take a couple of seconds to fade away.  The sound makes him think of the ticking of some huge, invisible clock.

            He stops to look at one of the stained-glass windows.  It's a picture of the cathedral's patron saint, Catherine of Alexandria, sitting next to a spinning wheel.  Not _at_ the wheel, since she isn't working at it: If this were a portrait that someone had painted, she would have been sitting so she faced the artist.  Her right hand rests on top of the wheel (which has little spikes on it, combining both her patronage of spinners and the device associated with her martyrdom) and her left on her heart.  She is looking down over her left shoulder with a pious expression.  Of course, the picture isn't that easy to make out at this time of night, since it's completely dim but for a few small spots backlit by lights outside, but he's seen it often enough to know what it's supposed to be.  Terry recalls that Catherine is also a patron of children, particularly girls – his mother, and his Sunday school teacher, told him that.

            Well, he's here because of the death of a girl.  Considering that Catherine is a patroness of girls, does that make this a particularly fitting place to honor the death of one?  Or a particularly _un_fitting place?  He doesn't know.  But that issue doesn't really concern him.  He turns away from St. Catherine's window and continues on his way to the chapel.

            As soon as Terry steps into the little room, much of the discomfort and self-consciousness he felt in the main part of the cathedral evaporates.  Maybe it's because the smaller space is not so awesome and overwhelming as the high walls and vaulted ceilings outside.  It may also be because Mary herself lends a benevolent atmosphere to this place.  There are four muted yellow lights, made to look like gas lanterns, each placed in one of the four corners.  Another one hangs over the altar against the rear wall, above the head of a three-foot-tall statue of the Virgin herself, simply but realistically depicted in fine hand-painted porcelain, with the light reflecting softly from her blue and white robes.  She stands in a classic pose, her eyes downcast, her arms spread a little with palms facing upward.  When Terry was little, he noticed that his mother stood much the same way when she wanted him to come over for a hug, and he decided that Mary must be doing the same thing – offering to give someone a hug.  There are a couple bouquets of slightly wilted flowers on the surface of the altar.  A quick look around the dimly lit room tells him that he is the only person in here.

            In front of the altar are three racks for votive candles.  Most of them have long since burned down and melted, covering the racks and the long metal pans beneath them with lumpy masses of congealed wax, like clumps of some strange grayish-white fungus.  A few wicks are still burning, though.  The candles of which they are a part have melted and merged with the greater mass of congealed wax to such an extent that the little flames look like fires on a snowy mountainside at night.

            Terry looks around some more and finds, off to the side, a cabinet containing boxes of squat white votive candles and matches.  There is a little donation box on top of the cabinet, politely requesting 0.75 credits per candle.  Terry gets 1.50 in change from his pockets, puts it in the box, takes two candles and a match.  One of the candles is for Tanya Wooten.  The other is for his father, for whom he lights a candle in this chapel every time he comes here.  He doesn't know if Tanya was Catholic or even Christian, but whether she was or not, a memorial candle will not go amiss.  Terry pries a couple of extinguished candles out of the upper left corner of the central rack, letting them fall to the pan below, then uses his fingers to remove some of the wax they left behind so that there will be a spot for his candles.  Once the little space is about as clean as he can get it, he puts the candles there.

            Part of him wonders why he's doing this.  It makes sense for him to light a candle for his father, but Tanya Wooten was a stranger to him.  He cannot attend her funeral – even if he knew when and where the service would be – and even that wouldn't be much.  This little gesture means nothing.

            Another part of him, however, knows exactly why he's doing this, and that while it may be only one candle, it's a lot more than that.  He is doing the same thing for her death that he does for his father's, because in some way he can't explain, both of those deaths mean the same thing.  It galled him – an inadequate word, but the best he can think of – that his father was killed to protect the interests of the callous, avaricious Derek Powers.  What he finds galling about Tanya Wooten's death is different.  In that case, what he can't stand is the fact that it was so _pointless_.  She wasn't assassinated for knowing too much, or getting in the way of someone else's agenda.  Nor was she an executed hostage, or even the unfortunate victim of some maniac's homicidal rampage.  Even then her death would have had a point of some kind, and a little more dignity.  But Tanya's death was completely without purpose, and without dignity, because the man who killed her didn't notice, or care, that she was nearby.  She was hit by a stray bullet from a fight that had nothing to do with her.  Terry is here because he wants to show the universe, and himself, and maybe God, that she is more than just collateral damage.

            He strikes the match head with his thumbnail and it bursts into flame.  Then he carefully sets the burning end of the match to the wick of each candle he has placed the rack.  He does not, in his mind, decide that _this_ one is for his father and _that_ one is for Tanya.  For some reason he doesn't think that it would be right to do so.  Once he has lit both wicks, he drops the match, still burning, into the metal pan below the rack, where it quickly goes out. 

            Then, following a habit that was instilled in him at some so long ago that he can't remember it, he kneels on the floor, genuflects and clasps his hands together before him, then lowers his head and closes his eyes.  He doesn't say any anything, aloud or inside his own head.  A few minutes of silence, which he spends crafting and maintaining a vivid mental image of the candles he has just lit but cannot see through his closed eyes, seems better to him than any prayers or whispered messages to the Infinite or whatever it may be.  In a way, he is literally putting a lot of thought into the candles, which is what counts.  It's an idea that seemed perfectly rational to him 

            After a time, he gets to his feet, traces a cross in the air again, and turns around to leave the chapel.  Then, with one foot out the doorway and one still inside, he turns his head to look at the candles – his candles – burning with steady, bright yellow flames.  The grief that has weighed him down for the past few days has not gone away, but now it's not so difficult a burden to bear.

            Terry bows his head respectfully to the Virgin Mary standing in the chapel before stepping out completely and turning right, to make his way back to the entrance and from there, back home.


	11. Chapter Ten : Double Crisis

            Terry starts the next day feeling better than he has in a while.  Everything seems a lot brighter and more vital than it did before.  But that, he realizes, is because his view of the world is no longer being obscured by the gloom inside his head.  He can let his thoughts wander without worrying that they will lose themselves in some dark and dangerous part of his emotional landscape.  His life's not 'back to normal,' and it won't be for a while yet, but it's not so dismal anymore.

            After he's showered and dressed, he heads to the kitchen for breakfast.  Matt is on the couch in the living room, still in his pajamas, watching cartoons on the TV.  "Morning, Matt," Terry says as he walks behind the couch.

            Matt arches his spine and leans his head way back, so he's sort of draped belly-up over the top of the couch with an upside-down view of his brother.  "G'morning," he replies.  Then he flops back down into a sitting position.

            As Terry takes a quick glance at the TV screen, it occurs to him that he ought to check and see if there are any reports on Kitsune or the other vigilantes.  _That_ is now his _problème du jour_.  Serious stuff, but more like what he deals with on a regular basis – a serious Batman problem, not a serious Terry McGinnis problem.  Batman's problems, despite the dangers inherent in them, are somehow simpler and more straightforward than those of his alter ego.  Unless they involve those kinds of dangers which spill over from one to the other.  Those are the worst, but they are, fortunately, rare.

            "Hey Matt, can you turn on the news for a sec?" Terry asks in his politest and most amiable voice.

            Matt twists around to look at him, then shakes his head vigorously, a big smile on his face.  Terry knows what it means – his little brother only uses that smile when he's doing something irritating and knows it.  It means that he wants to make Terry lose his cool because that's always a source of quality entertainment.  Up to a point, at least.

            But Terry isn't going to play that game today.  "All right."  He waves dismissively.  "Maybe later."   He is immensely gratified to see the expression of utter bewilderment on his little brother's face, but he doesn't show it.  Instead he just continues on his way to the kitchen.

            His mom's at the table.  She's eating her usual breakfast of yogurt, fruit and wheat toast.  When he comes in, she looks up at him.  "Good morning, Terry."

            There's a note in her voice that sets off alarms in his head.  It's as familiar as Matt's mischievous smile, part of the McGinnis family lexicon of unspoken messages.  His mother wants to have a Talk with him.  "Are you mad about me getting in late last night?" he asks, his mind trying to chase down some plausible-sounding explanation.  "Look, I'm sorry, I know it was a lot later than usual, but I have a good reason for…"

            She's shaking her head.  He shuts up.  "It's not about that, Ter.  Not exactly.  Here."  She gestures at the chair next to her.  "Sit down."

            The feeling of euphoria that Terry started the morning with evaporates completely.  He's recovered from one wound only to be dealt another, and just as bad as the first.  For a moment he considers telling his mother that he's supposed to come in a little early today, that he has to go now, but he quickly quashes the notion.  There's no way to avoid what's coming.

            Keeping his eyes on those of his mother, he sits down in the indicated chair, his blood pounding in his ears.  "Mom, what's the problem?" he asks.

            His mother squares her shoulders as if preparing for some difficult ordeal.  "Terry, I've been trying to discuss this with you for a while now.  I've tried to bring it up without being too awkward, but I see now that it won't work."  She pauses for a moment, hesitating before she takes the next step.  "It's about your job with Mr. Wayne.  I'm glad that he offered you a job, and also that you're working so hard.  But" – and then she drops the bombshell – "I think you should look for something else."

            "Mom…"  She cuts him off with a wave of her hand before he can take the protest further.  Outside in the living room, there is a decidedly cartoonish _boom_ from the television set, and the high-pitched sound of Matt's amused laughter.

            "I've spent a year worrying because you don't come home until past midnight.  Your job left you barely enough time and energy to get through school.  And we hardly see you at home anymore.  I haven't said anything about it, because you wouldn't have liked me to.  But really, I don't know how much longer you can keep this up."

            Although his mother is speaking in a rational, if very concerned, tone of voice, Terry is starting to feel a sense of panic.  "I can handle it, Mom!  If I couldn't, I'd have quit by now!"  That much was true.

            The way she looks at him almost makes him cringe, not because of fear, but because of guilt and the unfamiliar intensity in his mother's eyes.  "You were able to manage it in high school.  In college, you'll have to be able to devote more time to schoolwork if you want to get anything out of it.  And don't say we need the money," she adds quickly, nipping that excuse in the bud.  "I got a raise last week.  So you should find someone else who will let you work on a more flexible schedule."

            "I'll try asking Wayne to give me a little more time off," Terry assures her.  Of course he can't really do that, but it's a stopgap measure, designed to buy more time.  Maybe if he just sticks to it long enough his mother will give up on the idea.

            Problem is, she sees through the ruse instantly.  "I don't think he'll do that," she says gravely.  There's a lot in the spaces between her words: she's gotten to know Bruce Wayne, to some extent at least, through her son.  "You should explain to him that you need to find a job that will leave you more time to study.  I'm sure he'll write you a reference – maybe he'll even help you find something."

            That sounds unbelievably ridiculous to Terry, but the reason his mother is suggesting it is because she has absolutely no idea what his job _really_ is.  He can't just say that he'll work for Mr. Wayne instead of going to college, either, because she's absolutely set on his obtaining a degree, even if it's just from a two-year school.  She sees his job as temporary, and he doesn't.  And he can't resolve that contradiction in their views of the situation unless he tells her the truth.  But he can't.

            Maybe, though - just maybe - he should.

            He's managed to keep this from her for a year.  In the back of his head, he's always known that it would only be a matter of time until she found out.  But he's just kept putting it off and trying not to think about it.  It's always been something that could wait until later.  Except now it can't wait anymore.  He has to tell her the truth.

            So, naturally, he cops out.

            "I have to go, Mom.  We can talk about this later, okay?  He stands up.  Leaving now means skipping breakfast, but he's used to that, and an empty stomach is better than the alternative.

            Terry expects his mother to protest.  She doesn't.  Instead she just gives him this look that's hurt and mad at the same time, one that he has seen before only a few times.  It scares him.  "All right," she agrees, her voice flat.  "We'll talk about it later."

            Gratefully, Terry says a quick goodbye to her, and then to Matt out on the couch as he runs out the front door.  He sprints for the metro station like he's got a devil at his heels, not because he's afraid of missing the train, but because he wants to put as much distance between himself and the talk with his mother as he possibly can.

            About halfway to the metro station, his cell phone starts ringing.  He slows to a brisk walk as he pulls it out of his pocket, flips it open, presses the TALK button and holds it up to his ear.  "Hello?"

            "_Terry_."  It's Wayne.  He _never_ starts a conversation with 'hello' – at least, not with Terry.  But he's gotten used to that by now.  "_Are you on the train yet?_"

            He's upset about something.  _Very_ upset.  But the way he's trying to cover it up says that it's not Terry he's angry with.  "No, but I'm on my way there."

            "_Take it in the other direction, and meet me at my office_."  As in, his office at Wayne Enterprises.  But it's Sunday, and he doesn't usually go during the weekend.  Unless there's an emergency.  

            "Why?  What's going on?"

            "_I'll explain when you get here,_" Wayne says.  Then, after a pause, "_Actually, I won't have to._"  And then, in an angry growl, "_It's probably all over the news by now_."  Terry's initial impression was wrong.  He's not upset.  He's _pissed_.

            "I'll be right there," Terry assures him.  Wayne hangs up.  Terry folds up his cell phone and puts it in his pocket again as he reaches the stairs leading down to the metro station.

            He decides that it would not be a good idea to tell the old man about his argument with his mother – not right now, anyway.  It's obvious that he's got more than enough to deal with as it is.


	12. Chapter Eleven : Long Journeys

            Terry gets on the train and sits down in an empty seat near the news screen just as the relevant report comes up.  The cheerful demeanor of the anchorwoman, her face a translucent gray ghost against the standard NewsByte background of the Gotham City skyline, is particularly annoying considering the serious nature of the information she is dealing with.

            "_In business news, Gotham City-based Wayne Industries is troubled by a scandal in one of its installations abroad._"  The scene behind her changes into a picture of a building in an unfamiliar city.  But Terry can at least tell what country it's in – the sign on the building is written in both English and Japanese.  A smaller picture comes up on the side of the screen opposite the anchor.  It's a portrait of a lean, bespectacled middle-aged man, his blond hair going gray.

            "_Douglas Marshall, chief of operations on the Pacific Rim, has been charged with embezzling more than five million credits from the company.  Bruce Wayne, who recently regained complete control of the company after Paxton Powers was forced to resign following his arrest and conviction for possession of stolen property and conspiracy to attempted murder, convened a press conference at Wayne Industries headquarters when he received word of Marshall's criminal activity._"

The anchorwoman's face turns sideways, so she's in profile, then slides off the screen as the background changes to show the auditorium where annual stockholders' meetings are usually held.  Mr. Wayne, dressed in a well-tailored black business suit and looking powerful as usual despite his age, is standing at the podium.  Terry can see and hear, respectively, the white flashes and mechanical clicks of cameras.  A message at the bottom of the screen indicates that this scene is a recording, not a live broadcast.

Another corporate exec in Wayne's position would have come across as somewhat angry and rather embarrassed.  Mr. Wayne, though, is obviously bordering on wrathful.  And you can tell that it's not the money he's worried about, or how the stock price of the company will be affected, but that someone in _his_ company was enough of a bastard to break the law – no not just that, but the rules of basic human decency.

"_I would like to assure our customers, our employees, our stockholders and all other concerned parties that I will deal with this problem – personally.  Marshall and his collaborators will be  punished, and everyone they stole from will be compensated.  I have _no tolerance_ for dishonesty and corruption in my company or anywhere else.  If you have any questions…_"

~***~

            *_click_*

            **Why'd you turn it off?**

            _I've seen enough.  I know what's going to happen next._

_            **I**_** don't.**

            _All right, then, I'll tell you.  You remember that my father worked for Wayne Industries until that reprehensible man Powers took it over…_

            **'Reprehensible?'**

            _What's so funny?_

            **I didn't think anybody actually _said_ 'reprehensible.'**

            _Well, I do.  And you just did – twice._

            **Okay, fine, never mind.  So, what happened back when your dad worked for Mr. Wayne?**

            _A few years before I was born, the director of marketing was found to have lined his pockets with a million dollars of company money.  Mr. Wayne was positively _furious.  _Do you know what it means to 'make an example' of someone?_

            **Ooh.  I almost feel sorry for that Marshall guy.**

            _Yes, that's the idea.  Wayne's not a man to be crossed._

            **Speaking of that…when are you going to talk to Batman?**

            _When I'm ready.  I want to make sure that he won't attack Kitsune when she approaches him.  And to do that, I have to make him understand that she's not a threat to him or the city._

            **So you want him to get used to her being around first?**

            _Something like that.  Maybe in a few days._

            **Actually…if you want, _I_ could tell him you want to meet him.  Sort of.**

            _What do you mean?_

            **I know a friend of his.  Maybe I could set up a meeting.**

            _You know 'a friend of his?'…All right, I won't pry.  When the right time comes, I'll let you know.  Then you can contact him yourself._

~***~

            "You're going to _Japan?_"

            "I _did_ say that I'd deal with it personally.  I'll need you to help me pack.  The plane will be ready by the time we're done."

            The traffic light turns green.  Terry takes his foot of the brake and puts it on the accelerator.  Wayne drove himself to the press conference, but only because his assistant wasn't available to do so and he couldn't wait.  It's not because he's averse to driving – it's just that folks expect a person of his status to have a chauffeur, so he does.  A matter of image, really.

            On the one hand, Terry thinks, it's bad that Mr. Wayne has to leave when Batman has to keep an eye on both VibranTech and Kitsune.  It's not going to be easy to keep up with things without him around.  On the other hand, Terry's mom can't expect him to quit his job when he has to hold down the fort while the boss is away.  It gives him a little more time, if not to make some kind of plan, then at least to delay the crisis.  Maybe having this time off to spend with his family will make his mother feel better, and she'll calm down a bit.  Whether she does or not, Terry will tell Mr. Wayne about his argument with her after he gets back to Gotham.  Terry may not be able to figure out how to handle this, but the old man will probably be able to think up something.  Now, though, would not be a good time to bring it up.

            "Well, I guess that means I'll be on my own for a few days," Terry remarks as he pulls onto the freeway.  He and Wayne both know that this isn't exactly true – Max will jump at the opportunity to be Batman's behind-the-scenes assistant, as she always does when Wayne's not available, and Terry will be glad for her help.  But since Wayne does not like the fact that Max made herself part of the team without his approval, he will not acknowledge her membership in it.  However, even he must admit that she's proven herself useful, so he doesn't actively discourage her from helping anymore.  Where Max is concerned, he's gone from outright rejection to ambivalence to grudging respect, and Terry is sure that he'll soon realize that, flippant though she may be, Max takes Batman as seriously as Terry himself does.

            For a few seconds, Wayne doesn't reply.  A quick glance at the rearview mirror allows Terry to see that he's looking out the passenger window, but his expression says that he's not really paying attention to what's outside.  Suddenly, he faces forward again.  "I know this is a bad time for me to leave you on your own.  But I need to take care of this."

            Terry's surprised by the note of concern in his voice.  "It's okay.  I've done it before, I can handle it," he says casually.  Of course it's _not_ completely okay – as much as he wants to prove that he can manage on his own, it always makes him nervous when Wayne's not around to back him up.  Having Max around helps, but it's not the same thing.

            "I know you can," Wayne replies.  But Terry can sense that he isn't quite telling the truth either.

~***~

            By four o' clock that afternoon, Bruce Wayne is riding a small chartered aircraft to Japan.  Terry goes back to the manor, walks Ace, and fills his food and water dishes.  As soon as he's finished that, his cell phone rings.  He answers it.  "Hello?"

            "_Hey Terry – I hear the boss-man is off to Osaka to straighten out that dreg Marshall._"

            "Hi, Max.  Yeah, he just left an hour ago."

            "_After seeing him on TV this morning…well, I'm glad I won't be around to see what happens when he gets there._"  She chuckles.  "_So, does this mean I get to look over your shoulder tonight?_"  She's totally psyched about it, just as Terry predicted.

            "Get ready to burn the midnight oil for the next week or so," Terry replies.

            "_All _right!  _When are you going out?_"

            Terry thinks for a few moments.  It's still light out, and there's no emergency to take care of, so he can't suit up yet.  Then again, if he doesn't, he'll have to go home and pick up where he left off with his mother.  The prospect makes his hair stand on end.  But he can't avoid it forever, and it'd be best to get it over with as soon as possible.  Even if Wayne isn't here.  He considers mentioning it to Max, but he doesn't think she'll be able to help him out.  His decision is already made – he's going to tell his mother the truth.  As soon as he can work up the courage to do it.

            "At nine," he concludes.  That'll be less than an hour after sunset.  "I'll call you, okay?"

            "_Schway.  Talk to you later._"

            "Bye," Terry says.  Then he hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket.

            Ace has just finished eating his dinner.  With a sigh, Terry gets down on one knee and scratches him behind the ears.  The dog senses his nervousness, whimpers and gives him a questioning look.

            "Well, buddy," Terry says, "I guess it's time to face the music.  Wish me luck."  He stands up.  Ace looks at him worriedly, his ears twitching with concern.  But when Terry walks to the front door, he doesn't follow.  The dog knows this is a problem he can't solve.

            Terry exits the mansion, locks the door behind him, and starts heading down the hill to the gate.  He wishes he had his motorbike, but he had to give it up last week when the brakes failed and he almost crashed into a car.  He bought it secondhand a couple of years ago, and that malfunction told him that it had gotten to the point where it was too old to be worth repairing anymore.  Since he hasn't had time to shop for a replacement, he's had to get around by bus and metro and on foot (when he's not being Batman, anyway).  Considering everything that's been happening lately, though, the lack of it seems like nothing.

            But now it means that he'll have to spend that much longer agonizing before he can get home.  That much more time to change his mind, decide not to tell his mother the secret after all.  Right now, he knows that it would be better to tell her than not to, and he wants to be in that state of mind when he gets home.  Who knows how long it will take to work up his nerve again if he loses it now?

            Once he's gotten out of the gate, it's a mile to the nearest bus stop.  Today it seems a lot longer.


	13. Chapter Twelve : Truth Hurts

            Terry stands before the front entrance of his apartment building and looks upward.  The sky was clear an hour ago, but now clouds are gathering, and the wind that comes with them – the kind that blows for a few seconds, dies down again, then starts up again – warns that there will soon be rain.  _I should go inside,_ he thinks to himself.  But he can't seem to make his feet move, force himself to enter the building, go upstairs to the apartment, and face his mother.  The passing of time, as he feared, has changed resolve into indecision.

Part of him understands that if he keeps hiding Batman from his mother, she won't understand his refusal to do what she thinks is best for him.  She'll be hurt, and it will drive a wedge between them.  He lost his father a year ago, and he lost Dana because he couldn't tell her why he had to keep running out on her for his job.  He doesn't want to lose his mother.  Even if he still lives in the same apartment with her, sees her every day, she'll be lost to him.  If she isn't already.

The other part of him says that he _can't_ tell her.  He can't do what she says and take a different job, but he can't tell her _why_ either.  She may hate him for it – as much as a mother can hate her son, anyway – but as long as she doesn't know, she'll be safe.  She won't have to bear the burden of the secret.  Whatever pain it might cause her, and Terry, if he keeps it from her, it's better than what might happen if she knows, if she lets it slip.

_Maybe I shouldn't go at all.  Just stay out until I have to suit up._  Even though he knows it's going to make things worse, not better, in the long run, he's seriously considering the idea.

A rumble of thunder from the clouds above, and a few raindrops falling shortly afterward, decide him at last.  He goes up to the door, opens it with his keycard, and starts heading up the stairs.  Inside he wants to pause and collect himself, try to figure out how he's going to say what he has to say, but he's afraid that if he stops moving he'll freeze again.  He has to keep up the momentum, let it carry him through.

When he opens the door, his heart starts pounding and he begins to feel light-headed.  It's like his physical sensations are picking up where they left off this morning.  _This is ridiculous.  I can face dangerous criminals and homicidal mutants, but not my own mother._  It's almost funny.  Almost.  Outside he hears a boom of thunder.

            His mom's sitting on the couch, reading a novel.  She's facing away from him, and since he came in quietly she doesn't know he's there.  Terry can't see or hear any sign of his little brother – which means he's out of the house.  If he _were_ in here, it wouldn't be this quiet.  At least this means he won't have to worry about Matt overhearing him.

            He walks up to the couch.  "Hi, Mom."

             She jumps a little – he must have surprised her – and turns around to look at him.  "Oh!  You're home early," she says.  It's painfully obvious to him that she's trying to act like this morning never happened.  A new sound starts, the sound of driving rain on the windowpanes.  There's a flash of lighting outside, and then a loud noise from the clouds above, one that sounds like a house falling down.

            "Well, Mr. Wayne had to go to Japan over the whole embezzlement thing – did you see that on the news?"  His mother nods.  "So I won't have much to do for the next few days."  He looks around.  "Is Matt home?"  It seems he isn't, but better safe than sorry.

            His mother shakes her head.  "No, he's sleeping over at a friend's house tonight."

            "Okay..um…" Terry tries to think of a good way to break the news to her.  But, he realizes, there _is_ no good way to announce something like this.  He goes around the couch and sits down next to his mother.  "Mom…about this morning…"

            She puts her book on the coffee table and looks at him attentively, but doesn't say anything.

            Terry takes a deep breath.  "I'm sorry I ran off, it's just that…well, I kind of panicked when you said you wanted me to quit working for Mr. Wayne.  I know why you're worried about me, but…it's not that simple."  Maybe, instead of just saying it, he should tell her the whole story from the beginning – from the fight with the Jokerz that led him to Wayne Manor, and the truth about why Warren McGinnis was killed.  Then she might understand why it meant so much to him.

            He's just worked this out when his mother swings a wrecking ball into it.  "I know," she says quietly, looking down at her feet.  "Because you're not Mr. Wayne's assistant.  You're Batman."

            If Terry hadn't been sitting down, he would have fallen over.  He tries desperately to recapture his scattered thoughts, which are racing all over like frightened rabbits.  A bright flash of lighting, with an almost simultaneous crack of thunder, strikes a blow on his already shattered nerves.  "How…when did…why…"  That's all he manages to choke out before the capacity for speech deserts him completely.

            His mother looks up again.  "I figured it out a while ago.  Honestly, Terry, did you think you could keep it from me forever?"  For some reason the idea seems amusing to her, in a sad kind of way.  "I'm your _mother_, for God's sake."  She's right.  He should have known that she'd eventually put two and two together.  "You even told me before.*  I thought you were just joking – but later on, it started to make sense.  More sense than anything else I could come up with."  She looks carefully at him.  He must look absolutely terrified, because she smiles reassuringly.  "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone.  About you _or _Mr. Wayne."

            Terry finally pulls himself together enough to say something coherent.  "But…if you know about that, why didn't you _say_ so?"

            She lowers her eyes again.  "I didn't say anything because I knew you were keeping it from me for my own safety.  And I thought that maybe I could convince you to give it up without letting you know that I'd figured out what you were doing."  Then she sighs.  "I should have known it wouldn't work."

            Now Terry's starting to calm down.  He's still panicked, but at least now he's not overcome by shock.  "Mom, I can't quit.  I just can't."  There's another flash-and-boom, but he hardly notices it.

            She looks up at him.  The sight of tears in her eyes feels to Terry like a punch in the gut.  "You can, now that there's someone else here.  There's no _need_ for you to be Batman anymore."

            He tries to speak calmly.  "But we don't know how long Kitsune's going to stay here.  And I'm not sure I can trust her."  His mother lifts a hand to her eyes to wipe the tears from them.  Terry takes her other hand in his own.  "Even if she isn't a problem, I can't just give it up."

            "You _have_ to!" she says forcefully.  "Now that I know about it I can't sleep at night because I'm afraid that you won't come back the next morning.  You're…you're going to get yourself _killed_."  She breaks down into sobs, no longer trying to hold back her tears, and puts her arms around him protectively.

Terry hugs her back, since he doesn't know what else to do.  This, he realizes, is what he was afraid of – that telling his mother the truth would mean putting her through this.  Shame twists his insides as he remembers how he hurt his mother years ago when he was arrested for breaking into a house with his gang.  He'd promised himself, after he got out, that he'd never hurt her that way again.  But he's breaking his promise now, and the real irony is that what he's doing now is his way of making up for past sins.

More lightning and thunder outside.  Terry thinks, with wry humor, that the weather outside is a perfect metaphor for his life as it is right now.

"Mom, I know why you're worried," he says softly.  "It's dangerous.  But I need to do it."  She pulls away from him, and he puts his hands on her shoulders.  "Listen, maybe it would help if I told you how the whole thing started.  Then you'll know why…"

Much to Terry's relief, his mother nods.  She's willing to hear him out.  "All right," she agrees, "But I need to get a tissue first."

~***~

            "…so I thought that was it.  But then Mr. Wayne turned up here offering me a job and…well, the rest is history."  He realizes that the rain outside has stopped, and the clouds are moving away.  The storm must have ended some time during his story, but he can't recall when.

            His mother looks down at the couch cushions between them.  "I still don't know if I can agree with it," she says gravely.  "At least now, I understand it."  Then she looked back up at him.  "Does anyone else know?"

            "Max does.  She figured it out on her own."  He looked down at his feet.  "Dana doesn't.  We…broke up a couple of days ago because she wasn't happy about how much time I was taking for my job, and I didn't think I could tell her why."  Terry looks at his mother, in whose eyes he sees a mix of sympathy and a little – it irks him somewhat – pity.  "I had to make a choice.  And when I really thought about it…"  He trails off.

            His mother puts her arm around his shoulders.  "It really means that much to you?"

            Terry nods.  He and his mother just sit in silence for a few moments.  Then he notices the time on the wall clock.  It's eight forty-five – almost time to go.

            He turns to his mother.  "Mom, I know Mr. Wayne's not around, but I still…"

            She nods resignedly.  "I know.  Just be careful out there."  Terry stands up.  "Hold on," she says.  He looks at her.  "We're going to have to talk about this later."

            "Yeah," Terry agrees, "I guess we should.  I'll see you tomorrow…"  He realizes how stupid that sounds, when his mother is worrying that he might not live to come home.

            But she smiles at him.  "All right.  Go ahead."

            Terry grins at her.  He realizes that, now that it's over with, the whole thing wasn't as much of a disaster as he'd thought it would be.  After waving to his mother, he leaves the apartment and heads up the stairs to the building's roof.  It's more tiring than using the elevator, but he doesn't want people living in the building to get suspicious when they see that he makes almost nightly trips to the top floor.

            Once he gets to the topmost landing, he checks to make sure there's nobody around.  Then he opens his backpack, which contains the Batsuit, and quickly changes into it.  He puts his street clothes in the backpack and puts it on top of a large pipe that runs up near the ceiling.  Then he turns on his camo, opens the door to the roof and steps into the rain-smelling air outside.  The sun has already set, the lights of the city are on and the moon is rising in the sky.

            At the back of his mind, Terry is relieved that the conversation with his mother turned out the way it did.  But most of his awareness is filled with anticipation, as it almost always is when he puts on the suit.  No matter how much being Batman may disrupt his life, or how many bad situations he's been in because of it, he can't help but look forward to it.  He feels stronger, more competent, and more sure of himself as Batman than he does as Terry McGinnis.  It's the ultimate power trip, the ultimate thrill.  It's one of the reasons why he will never be able to give it up.

            He walks up to the edge of the roof and looks out over the city for a few moments, then leaps off the roof in a dive, free-falling for a few seconds before he snaps open his wings and swoops upward.  When he's far away enough from his apartment building, he switches off his camo.  Then he looks around for another rooftop to land on.  He tries to pick one at random every night, so that if anybody's watching they won't know that he regularly comes out of one particular building.  Once he finds a good one, he lands and taps another button on his belt.  Then he waits – the Batmobile, on autopilot, will be here in a few minutes.  And then the real work – and the fun – will begin.

* Yes he did, in the episode _Sneak Peek_.  For those of you who haven't seen it, an "investigative reporter" named Ian Peek attached a small camera to the Batmobile.  The camera got pictures of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne, and Terry with his mask off.  The reporter was going to reveal Batman's secret identity on his show, _The Inside Peek_.  In the preview for the episode (the _Inside Peek_ episode, not the _Batman Beyond_ episode), he showed a picture of Terry with his face blurred out.  Terry's mother and brother were watching the preview and they were about to watch the show.  Since Terry decided that it would be better for his family to hear it from him before they heard it on television, he broke the news to them.  They didn't believe him – in fact, they thought it was a joke and they had a good laugh over it.  Fortunately, that particular episode of _The Inside Peek_ never aired, for reasons I will not explain here.  You'll have to watch it yourself.


	14. Chapter Thirteen : Pass in the Night

            Tama swings her hoverboard into a right turn and dodges through a tangle of causeways, doing loops and barrel rolls just for the hell of it.  Zooming around on the hoverboard is one of the best things about this job.  Not a lot of people have hoverboards – the only kind of control system that's feasible for such a vehicle is a synaptic control system, which is really expensive to make.  Tama's is shaped like a surfboard, except without the fin at the bottom, and it's the same color as her armor (red or black, depending on which electropigment she's using at the time).  Magnetic clamps keep her boots stuck to the board while she's flying, so she can't get knocked off of it.  Even if she does, though, she has a magnetic harpoon and nylon tether in one of her gauntlets.  Half her suit of splintmail is made of interesting little devices like that.

            "_Will you please stop _doing_ that?  You're making me dizzy over here,_" says a voice in her headdress.  That's Alex, the guy who sits at the big computer at the local base, using the sensors in her suit and mask to look over her shoulder.  He does all the complicated tech and intel stuff – monitoring police bands, getting building schematics, telling her where there's some trouble to deal with.  She only met him a couple of weeks ago, and they're still getting used to working with each other.  Tama obliges him by cutting the antics and flying at a slightly saner speed.

            "Sorry.  I'm just kind of wound up, y'know?"  She passes over one of the roads that winds in and out among the high reaches of the skyscrapers, and waves to a truck driver who is gaping at her in astonishment.  She hasn't engaged her black electropigments, so her bright red armor and white headdress make her easily visible.  There's no need to be stealthy at the moment.

            Then she hears a hovercraft engine somewhere behind her – it has that distinctive sound that's somewhere between a car and a jet plane.  She twists around to look at it, making sure it's not a cop flyer or something else she should be worried about.  And she wishes she'd been in stealth mode after all.

            The sleek, black-and-red craft about ten meters behind her is more worrisome than a cop flyer.  She could easily shake off one of those.  But the Batmobile is piloted by someone closer to her own level.  She feels her heart rate increase, and the cold tingle of fear in her abdomen and limbs.  The black craft is maintaining a steady distance from her.  Is he following her?  She can't tell for sure.  He must have noticed her by now, since she doesn't exactly blend in.

            She turns her attention back in the direction she's heading and considers making a break for it.  "_Go slow,_" Alex tells her over the transmitter.  "_If you run, he'll definitely chase you_."  He had a good point.

            "Well, if I shouldn't run, then what _should_ I do?" she asks.

            "_Take the next left, go into blackout mode and descend.  If he follows you closer to ground level, you'll have greater maneuverability on your side_."

            Tama follows his advice.  She turns left, then depresses a button on the inside of her left wrist.  Her board, armor, and outfit grow darker and duller until they are completely black.  She can't see her own face, but she knows that her mask has gone completely black as well.  Then she starts on a slow, leisurely descent, trying to stay in the shadows and looking up now and then to see if the Batmobile is tailing her.

            It isn't.  He hasn't even tried to follow her.  This is a relief, and an encouraging sign.  But Tama's not going to take any more chances.  She's going to watch her back more carefully from now on.

~***~

            "_So she _knows _now?_" Max's voice isn't exactly disbelieving, but it comes close.  Terry can't see her face because she's on an audio linkup this time.

            "Yeah.  I'd been planning to tell her about it some time, but…"

            "_..but always later_."

            "Exactly.  I wonder what the old man'll say."

            "_I bet he'll be surprised_," Max predicts.

            Terry doubts it.  "I don't think so.  He'll probably wonder why it took her so long to figure it out."

            "_You want to bet?_" Max says mischievously.

            "Do you mean it?  Because I'll take you up on…_hold_ on!"  Terry's just turned onto Central Boulevard – or, rather, the airspace directly above the Boulevard – and has just caught sight of a person who has been all over the news, in amateur footage, hasty camera shots and police artist renderings for the past two days.  Kitsune.

            She's several meters ahead of him, zipping through the air on a hoverboard the same color as her armor.  For a couple of seconds, she doesn't seem to notice him.  Then she turns around and he can see her painted face and the two green, glowing slits of her eyes.  Terry gets the feeling that she's looking right at him – but that's impossible, she can't see through the Batmobile's tinted windshield.  Or maybe she's got some visual equipment in that mask of hers that lets her see through the tint.  Either way, he feels that she's staring right at him, and he doesn't like it.

            "_What is it?  What's going on?_" Max asks him.  Of course she can't see what it is.

            Outside, Kitsune turns around again to concentrate on flying.  On the next break in the buildings to her left, she peels away in that direction.  Terry wonders if he should follow her, wonders what the old man would have him do, but then he remembers what Barbara Gordon said – _I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt…unless she crosses the line_.  He decides, tentatively, to do the same.  After all, if Mr. Wayne isn't around to give him advice, Commissioner Gordon is the next best person to turn to.  So he doesn't turn to go after her, just looks to the left so he can see where she's going.  He can't, though, because she seems to have vanished into thin air.

            "_Are you okay?_" Max asks him, making him jump in his seat.

            "Sorry.  You won't believe who I just saw… "

            "_Of course I won't, if you don't _tell _me._"  Terry imagines her rolling her eyes as she says this.

            "It was Kitsune.  On a hoverboard.  I think she was just as surprised as I was."

            "_Whoa.  Where'd she go?_"

            "I don't know.  She turned a corner and disappeared.  Somehow I don't think she wants to talk."

            "_You mean you didn't follow her_?" Max sounds utterly disappointed.

            "The police commissioner is taking a wait-and-see approach right now," he explains.  Max doesn't know that Barbara Gordon used to be Batgirl, or that she knows any other Batman-related secrets.  He doesn't think that it would be right to tell someone about that without her express permission.  Knowing Max, she'll probably find it out on her own one day, but that doesn't mean that Terry is going to do something that he considers a betrayal of her trust.  "And so am I."

            "_Because that's what the police are doing, or because…I don't know, to show some professional courtesy or something?_"  Professional courtesy.  That's a good one.  It's practically nonexistent these days, and Terry doesn't think that it was ever a big thing with people in his line of work to begin with.

             Terry hears the wailing of an ambulance siren up ahead and getting closer.  He nudges the Batmobile to the right a little so that the ambulance will have plenty of room to pass by as it goes in the opposite direction.  Once it's out of the way, shooting off behind him while the Doppler effect brings the sound of its siren down to a lower pitch even as it fades in volume.  In a few seconds its swallowed up in the background of city noise.  "None of the above.  I'm leaving her alone because the old man says so."

            "_Shoulda figured,_" Max says.  There is a brief silence, one which Terry doesn't fill because he can sense that Max is going to say something else, as soon as she can find the right words.  "_But if it were up to you…_"

            He has to think about that for a little bit, because the pros and cons involved are almost perfectly matched in his mind.  There's just enough difference between them, though, for him to pick one.  "I'd leave her alone.  I didn't like it when the police were chasing _me_."  Terry pauses for a moment of consideration, during which he looks down on the city below him.  "It's the least I can do, since I've been there before.  Let's just hope it turns out to be the right thing to do."__


	15. Chapter Fourteen : Wild Card

            The next day is relatively slow.  Since Mr. Wayne's away, all Terry has to do during daylight hours is check on Ace.  And he has no school or homework to worry about.  He can't remember when he last had so much spare time.  By all rights he should be glad about that, but it's making him miserable, because normally he'd be spending it with Dana.  For some reason he keeps thinking that he should call her up, as if they were still going out together.  It's almost like he's just had a limb amputated and hasn't gotten used to the fact that it just isn't there anymore.  For a while he thinks about trying to patch things up with her, which is what he usually did after the two of them got into an argument.  But it won't work this time, because what they'd just had wasn't an argument, or at least not the kind he was used to.  It was a lot more like a 'let's just be friends' conversation, although thankfully it hadn't been _quite_ that awful.

            When he gets right down to it, the only way he can possibly make up with Dana is be to tell her exactly why his job took up so much of his time, and took him away from _her_.  But try as he might, he can't imagine himself explaining it to her.  He hadn't been able to imagine it with his mother either, but he'd had no other choice, and thankfully they had managed to work it out.  In Dana's case, he had a choice – and, as much as it might hurt him, he knows that he did the right thing.  Batman is more than she's capable of dealing with.

            At least he can escape such thoughts by attending to another necessity; that of getting a new motorbike.  This time he gets a brand-new one, a top-of-the-line Meteor 2600, which in retrospect he thinks he may have done as a sort of therapeutic treatment because of how awful he's feeling.  Well, it's certainly worth it – the sleek black bike is good for both speed and cornering, and the seat is big enough to fit a passenger sitting behind him.  He'll be using about a fourth of his weekly salary to pay for it for the next year or so, but he's pretty sure, at least for the time being, that he won't regret it.  As for the whole therapy thing, it _does_ make him feel a lot better, at least in the short term.

            When he rides home that afternoon, he finds that his mother and brother are just leaving the apartment building.  His mom's carrying a picnic basket.  Matt's eyes go wide as Terry pulls the bike up next to the curb.  He runs over to check it out as Terry removes his helmet.  "That's a schway bike!" Matt remarks as he examines his dim reflection in the polished black metal.  Then he looks up at his mother, who has walked up to meet them.  "Hey, mom!  Can I take a ride on it?  Pleeeeese?"

            "Absolutely not," she says.  She has a very low opinion of motorbikes in general, and only let Terry get one when he started working for Mr. Wayne because he was spending his own money and it was less expensive than a car.  Although she's gotten used to the idea of her older son riding a motorcycle, she apparently doesn't think Matt should even get near one until he's at least sixteen.  Or, better still, until he's thirty.  Matt, who of course has the opposite mindset, looks like he's about to throw a fit.

            Terry finds a quick way to defuse the situation.  "I don't have an extra helmet for you, Matt," he says apologetically.  Then he grins.  "I know it's only your head, but still…"  He ruffles his little brother's hair affectionately.

            "What do you mean, 'it's only my hea…'"  Matt's eyebrows go up as comprehension dawns, and then go down as he frowns petulantly.  "_Hey!_"  He throws a punch at Terry and hits him in the ribs.

            "Matty, that's enough," his mother tells him in a gentle but firm tone.  Matt retreats a bit, holding his hands behind his back and looking sorry – for getting in trouble, not for hitting his brother.  His mother turns to Terry.  "We're going to have a picnic supper in the park.  Want to come along?"

            Terry thinks about it for a moment.  He doesn't have anything else to do, and after yesterday he feels that he owes this much, at least, to his mother.  "Sure," he says.  "Lemme park the bike, and I'll be right back."

~***~

            After dinner, while their mother is putting away the picnic paraphernalia, the McGinnis toss a Frisbee back and forth on the expanse of grass near the pond, which is actually more like a small lake.  Playing with Matt makes Terry feel almost like a normal person.  People say that normalcy is relative, but Terry knows better.

            "Go back farther!" Matt shouts at him.  He's going to try for a long-distance Frisbee toss.

            "Are you sure you can throw it this far?"  His little brother's maximum range is something less than five meters, and the two of them are half again that far apart.

            "Yes I _can!_  C'mon!  Go back!" Matt insists, flapping the Frisbee in a shooing motion.

            Terry obliges his brother by backing up, slowly, until Matt holds up his hands.  Now they're about twelve meters apart.  Matt pulls back his arm, looking like a baseball pitcher on the windup, and then he flings the Frisbee towards Terry.  As he predicted, it doesn't even cover half the distance between them before it hits the ground.  Matt looks disappointed.

            "I told you so," Terry calls to him as they both jog toward the fallen Frisbee.  The two of them reach it at about the same time – Matt started out closer to it, but Terry can run faster – and they each pick up one end.  Matt pulls on it, trying to wrest it from his older brother's grip.  Terry waits until he's digging his heels in and pulling really hard; then he lets go.  His little brother stumbles backwards and falls over.

            Matt doesn't realize that his brother has just played a trick on him, or maybe he doesn't care.  He brandishes the Frisbee triumphantly.  "Ha ha!  Twip!" he crows as he gets to his feet and flings the Frisbee, rather inexpertly, at Terry.

            Terry snatches it out of the air before it can hit his face.  Then he starts shuffling backwards, holding the Frisbee back behind his head like it's a football he's about to toss.  Matt gets the idea and starts running in the other direction, watching Terry over his shoulder.  Terry sweeps his arm back in an exaggerated motion and throws the Frisbee as hard as he can.

            He aimed it straight for Matt, but a sudden gust of wind pushes it to the left, towards the large pond.  The brothers watch with something akin to horror as it descends and hits the water.  The Frisbee skims along the surface, spinning and throwing off ripples, until it gets caught among the reeds near the far bank.

            Matt reacts the way he always does when Terry upsets him.  "_MOOOOM!_"

            Terry's mother, who has just finished packing up and witnessed the Frisbee's water landing, sighs at her younger son.  "Matt, it's only a Frisbee.  Calm down."

            "It's okay," Terry says.  "I'll go get it."  He heads for the little path that runs around the perimeter of the lake.  Close to the bed of reeds where the Frisbee came to rest, the path winds through a series of large trees and shrubs, which make it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction while one is inside.  When he emerges from the curtain of willow branches that marks the end of the concealed section of the path, he sees that someone else has already plucked the Frisbee from among the reeds.  At first he doesn't recognize her, but when he does he freezes in his tracks.  Something in his soul shatters like a glass window hit by a brick.

            _Melanie._


	16. Chapter Fifteen : Twice Shy

            The last time he saw her, while she was working in a restaurant, she had looked frail and miserable.  Now she looks better, more like when he first met her, except she's not wearing the expensive designer outfit that she used to.  Instead she's wearing dilapidated sneakers, blue jeans and a white sleeveless crop-top.  She's also tied her hair back with a blue kerchief.  But her plain clothing doesn't make her any less beautiful, or the sight of her any less painful.

            Melanie is kneeling at the edge of the water just a meter from him, the dripping Frisbee in her right hand.  She hasn't seen Terry yet, and doesn't look in his direction until she's gotten back to her feet.  When she does, her face turns ashen.  She and Terry just stand there for a couple of seconds, neither one sure of what to do, until she takes it upon herself to break the silence.  "Is…is this yours?" she asks, offering him the Frisbee.

            "Yeah.  Thanks," he answers, taking it from her hand.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees his Mom watching him from the other side of the pond.  Matt's not there.  Only then does he register the sound of a child's running footsteps approaching.  Then Matt bursts out of the willow curtain and skids to a halt beside him.  Things have just become a lot more complicated.

            "Hi!" Matt says cheerfully.  "Thanks for getting the Frisbee."

            Melanie smiles.  "You're welcome."

            Matt looks back and forth between them.  "Uh…do you guys know each other?"

            Terry doesn't know how he should answer that, but Melanie comes up with something.  "Sort of.  We met once before."  Even though Terry doesn't want his brother to know the truth, he's still hurt by her words and the casual tone with which she says them.

            His brother, however, is canny enough to understand that something else is going on.  Terry sees the mischievous look in his eye and shoots him a quick glare.  _If you say _anything, _twip, you're dead meat._  Matt gets the message, and his expression goes from scheming to scared to pleasant in the space of a heartbeat.  "Well, it was nice meeting you," he says quickly.  "Thanks again.  Bye."  He snatches the Frisbee from Terry and darts into the clump of trees.

            Terry wants to say his own goodbyes and end this exchange as quickly as politeness will allow, but when he turns back to Melanie he sees that she's looking across the pond, at his mother, who smiles and waves in their direction.  Melanie waves back.  Terry wishes as hard as he can for the ground to open up and swallow him forever, but it doesn't oblige him.  He looks at his feet, then back across the pond, where Matt has rejoined his mother and the two have started their own game of Frisbee.  Then he looks at Melanie, and is shocked to see that she's watching them with a sad expression that makes her look a lot older than she really is.  The sight makes his insides twist with guilt because he knows that he is personally responsible for making her so miserable.  Never mind that she and her family were criminals – Batman more or less single-handedly ruined her life.

            Actually, Terry McGinnis deserves some of the blame for that, too.

            Melanie suddenly realizes that he's looking at her and turns her attention back to him.  "Y'know," she begins, blushing and lowering her eyes, "It's funny, I've been meaning to talk to you…"

            With those words she completely derails Terry's train of thought.  Then a raging tornado of vague, nightmarish thoughts sweeps up the locomotive, cars and caboose and carries them away.  This can't be good.  Terry wants to say that whatever she's proposing might not be a good idea, but somehow the connection between his mind and his mouth has been broken.

            She looks around, as if to make sure there's nobody eavesdropping.  "But I can't here.  Not right now."  Her ice-blue eyes meet his, betraying a mix of apprehension and determination.  "Can you meet me here tonight?  Right after it gets dark?"

            _This is just insane,_ Terry thinks to himself.  He finally manages to get his mind into some semblance of proper order again.  "Melanie, no.  The last time we…"

            "No, no, it's not _like_ that," she interrupts desperately, raising her hands to forestall him.  Then she blinks, drops her hands and sighs.  In a softer, calmer voice, she says, "That's all over.  It was nice but…it didn't work out."  Both of them drop their eyes and say nothing for a few seconds, as if they're having a moment of silence to honor the dead.

            Suddenly Melanie jerks her head up again.  Terry does the same.  "Listen," she says, "This is about business.  My boss wants to meet you."

            Terry blinks.  He must admit to being curious, although that curiosity is tinged with suspicion.  "He does?  What about?"

            "She," Melanie corrects him.  "And that's what I want to talk to you about tonight."  She looks at him with a serious expression.  "So?"

            _I shouldn't.  She's trouble.  I should just say no and walk away_.  "I'll think about it."  _McGinnis, you're an idiot._

            Melanie doesn't take his answer for an affirmative.  Nor does she press him to give her a definite yes or no.  She just nods, understanding the reason for his ambivalence.  "Okay.  I'll be here," she assures him.  Then she turns, smiles, waves, and departs.

            Terry stares after her for a moment, wondering what he has just gotten himself into.  His musings are interrupted by the voice of his mother, calling from across the pond.  "Terry!  We're going home now."

            "I'll be right there!" Terry hollers back, and jogs down the path along the pond's edge to rejoin her and Matt as they start walking back home.

            As soon as he catches up and falls into step beside them, he sees that Matt is giving him That Look.  Of course the little brat can't resist.  "_Oooh!_  If Dana knew, she'd be je- _AAAGH!_"

~***~

            As soon as they get back to the apartment building, Terry heads for the underground garage where he has parked his motorcycle.  He has to go to the Manor to take care of Ace and, if it's possible, to contact the old man and tell him about the meeting with Melanie.  Getting some advice from his boss will make him feel a lot better.  He's trying not to think about what might happen if he can't manage to reach Mr. Wayne.

            When he reaches the manor, he eases his motorcycle up to the sensor near the gateway and puts his feet on the ground, then starts removing his helmet.  As he does, he hears Ace's enthusiastic barking and the sound of his paws hitting the ground as he dashes to the front gate.  Normally the dog isn't so affectionate, but he's been alone for most of the day and is glad for some company.  And he knows that Terry's here to feed him, so of course he's being friendly.  He goes right up to the iron bars of the gate and stands there, wagging his tail.  Then he barks impatiently.

            "Hold on," Terry says.  He turns to look into the lens of the sensor, tries not to blink as it scans his retina with a laser.  The system recognizes him, and the gate unlocks and swings outward.  Mr. Wayne had the scanner installed about a month ago – it's relatively easy to copy a key or access card, but it's just about impossible to fake a specific pattern of blood vessels inside someone's eyeball.  You can't even do it by cloning an eye, since the blood vessel layout is loosely based on a fractal pattern that's encoded into everyone's genotype but is expressed differently in every phenotype.  That's one of the few interesting things Terry learned in his biology class.

            As soon as the gate opens, Ace runs up to Terry and barks again.  Then he notices Terry's new bike and sniffs it curiously.  Terry reaches out to scratch him behind the ears.  "Evening, Batdog," he says.  Ace looks up at him, then turns and trots back inside the gate.  Terry puts his helmet back on and follows slowly, keeping his feet on the ground and more or less walking the bike forward.  He goes through the gate, which swings shut and locks behind him.  Ace looks back at him, then breaks into a run, heading up the hill towards the mansion.  Terry hits the throttle and motors up the curving driveway.

            Once he reaches the horseshoe in front of the house, he puts down the bike's kickstand and shuts off the engine.  Then he gets off and leaves his helmet on the seat.  Ace has already entered the house, through a large doggie door that's keyed to an access chip in his collar.  Terry has to use a key to get in.  He goes to the kitchen, fills up Ace's food and water dishes, and leaves the dog to his dinner while he goes down to the Batcave.  Mr. Wayne told him to use the computer for any Batman-related calls, so that they can talk on a high-security channel.

            It's six o'clock on the East Coast – Japan is thirteen hours ahead, so it's seven in the morning there.  Terry's not sure what Mr. Wayne's schedule might be like, but he's likely to be eating breakfast or heading somewhere in a car right now.  If he is, he'll be able to answer the call.  Terry wakes up the computer and dials the number for Mr. Wayne's cellular phone.  He thinks to himself that the long-distance charges for such a call must be phenomenal.  It's not really something he has to worry about – after all, his boss can certainly afford it – but the costs he can estimate for it are high enough to be interesting.  Terry makes a mental note to find out the exact amount at some more convenient time.

            The word 'CALLING…' flashes on the large screen before him.  With every flash Terry grows more and more anxious.  "C'mon, c'mon, pick up…" he mutters imploringly.

After ten seconds the words 'PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE' appear on the screen.  "_Sorry, Mr. Bruce Wayne is not available at this time…_" says a chipper, computer-generated voice.  Terry utters a frustrated groan and brings his fist down on the edge of the console.  "_Please leave a message stating your name, number and…_"  Terry cuts the connection with a savage jab to the call button.  He can't leave a message for his boss, since it would then be sitting around in the communications net for any hacker to find.

"Okay.  Let's try this again."  Terry redials.  Same result.  He tries yet again.  No dice.  "Slag it!" he mutters to himself.  He'll just have to figure this one out on his own.

Terry puts the computer into sleep mode again, then leans back in the chair, squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples with his fingers.  _What would Wayne do?_ he asks himself.

An idea comes to him, like sunlight through a break in the clouds.  It isn't much, but if it works it will give him a better idea of what he's getting into.  He leaps out of the chair and runs up the staircase, back into the mansion.  After stopping to bid Ace farewell, he leaves the house and heads down to the garage to get his bike.  He needs to talk to Max.


	17. Chapter Sixteen : Little Details

            "Oooh, detective work!" Max says, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically.  "Sure.  What're you looking for?"

            Terry sits down on the yellow beanbag chair in the center of her bedroom floor.  "I need you to find some info on a girl named Melanie Walker.  She used to be…"

            "…in the Royal Flush Gang," Max concludes.  "I know."

            Terry nods.  "I think she may be getting involved in some bad business again.  Can you find out who she's working for?  I bet she's on parole or probation, something like that, so it'll be on a record somewhere."

            "Okay," Max responds, hopping into her swivel chair and turning around to face the computer.  "That means looking in Gotham City police files.  If I can't find it there, I'll try the state next."*  Of course that information will be on a secured database, but it won't be that hard to hack it – she's done it before, she knows the encryption algorithms that the GPD uses to protect its data.  Getting into the file doesn't take her more than five minutes.

            "There you go!" Max proclaims triumphantly, kicking the swivel chair back from the desk and waving at the monitor.  Terry thanks her and gets up to take a look.

            On the screen are two mug shots of a young woman with platinum-blonde hair and pale blue eyes, one straight-on and one in profile.  There's also a blown-up picture of her fingerprint.  Under the graphics her personal info is listed – full name, date of birth, physical description, blood type, her criminal record, et cetera, et cetera.  Terry taps the page down key a few times as he scans for her employment information.  Suddenly he stops tapping the key and his eyebrows go up.

            "Hey, what is it?" Max asks, walking her chair back to the desk so she can get a glimpse at the screen.

            "She's a secretary at VibranTech now," Terry explains.  "That's the nanotech plant that Kobra broke into a few days ago."  He steps back, looking puzzled.  "The police found out that someone else was behind it, but they don't know _who_."  Terry starts pacing back and forth, his eyes on the floor in front of him.  "Maybe she's connected with it somehow.  I'll definitely have to follow up on this."  He stops and looks out the window.

Outside, the sky over the rooftops is lit up with the colors of sunset.  Terry spends a few seconds gazing at it – obviously thinking hard about something – and then turns back to Max.  "I have to get going," he tells her.  "Call me in an hour.  There's something I have to do before I go out," he says, walking toward the door.

Max gets the feeling that Terry's hiding something from her.  "What exactly _do_ you have to do?"  She asks.

Terry opens the door.  "I have to meet someone.  I'll explain later, when I know more about what's going on."

Max nods.  "Okay.  See ya."  She waves.  Terry waves back and exits, closing the door behind him.

            "Hmm."  Max turns back to the computer screen.  She scrolls up the page, back to Melanie Walker's mug shots, and examines them for a few seconds, thinking that this whole thing is _way_ weird.

            And then, belatedly, she makes the connection.  Terry wanted to get information about Melanie because _she's the person he's going to meet with_.  But why didn't he tell Max?  He's never kept any secrets from her, not since she found out about the Batman thing.

            Evidently, though, he's now keeping at least one.

~***~

            Terry feels kind of guilty for not telling Max the whole story.  But he can't tell her about Melanie.  That whole thing is too…_complicated_ to share even with his best friend.  Even Mr. Wayne doesn't know the whole story – he knows that Terry fell for Melanie, but he doesn't know just how far their relationship ended up going, in the short time that it lasted.

            He leaves his bike in the garage under his apartment building and walks the few blocks to the now deserted park.  When he gets there the last rays of the sun are just visible on the western edge of the sky.  As he approaches he perks up his ears, keeps his eyes peeled.  No telling what might be hiding in the trees and bushes, especially since the lampposts placed here and there are not bright enough or numerous enough to dispel the many gathering shadows.  Sounds of chirping crickets and croaking toads fill the warm night air, all but supplanting the white noise one usually hears in a city.

 Terry heads for the pond, walks toward the little cluster of trees and bushes where he met Melanie earlier this evening.  Paranoia makes him decide to go around the clump instead of through it.  Not paranoia picked up from Wayne, but the simple, sensible paranoia that anyone who has lived in Gotham City for any appreciable length of time tends to develop.  After all, even with Batman around this town still has one of the highest crime rates in the country.

There's no sign of Melanie, but it's not quite after dark yet.  She should be along soon.  Terry realizes that he's trying to reassure himself that she _will_ be here, even though he's also afraid of meeting her – especially since they will be alone, without the presence of other people to give them some measure of protection from each other's emotions.  On his way here he came up with a few possible reasons why her boss might want to meet him.  The most probable of these is the one he likes least.  But he'll know one way or the other, soon enough.

His ears catch the sound of rustling grass.  He turns towards the source of the noise and sees Melanie approaching from a stand of pine trees close by.  Even from here he can tell she's as nervous as he is.  That makes him feel a little better.  But not much.

Melanie stops on the path in front of him, standing – very deliberately, it seems to him – just out of arm's reach.  "I was afraid you wouldn't come," she admits, without preamble.  Then she drops her eyes.  "I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you.  Right now, though, you'll have to trust me a little bit."  Melanie looks up at him again, and he sees mixed fear and determination in her eyes.  "I should warn you, what I have to say might…it might make you upset."

Terry didn't expect anything else.  He nods.

She takes a deep breath.  "Remember I said that my boss wanted to talk to you?  Well, that's not _exactly_ true."  Melanie drops her eyes again.  "She wants to talk to Batman," she confesses in a near mumble.

This confirms his worst suspicions, but at least it doesn't come as a big shock.  Instead he gets a sort of numb feeling, as if all his panic circuits have just overloaded and shut down.  "I figured that might be it," he says.  "But tell me one thing – how did she know?"  Maybe she's just one of those rare people who can match wits with Bruce Wayne.  That's the most likely possibility.

Melanie looks up, a little surprised.  "She doesn't.  I just told her I knew how to get in touch with Batman.  With you.  I haven't told anybody."

Okay, so the most likely possibility turned out to be wrong.  "Then I guess I should ask…how did _you_ find out?"

A smile flickers across Melanie's face.  "My parents taught me to pay attention to little details.  I spent a lot of time around both of you – I mean, you and Batman – and I noticed a lot of little details."  She chuckles, somewhat bitterly.  "But I didn't add it all up until later.  After the last time we saw each other."  Then she pauses for a moment of thought.  "Not when you visited me at the restaurant to ask about my family.  I mean the time before that."  Both of them are silent for a couple of seconds.  "When did you figure out that I was Ten?"

This throws Terry for yet another loop.  "What?"

"I told you when I figured out that you were Batman," she reminds him, her tone of voice saying that this gives him an obligation to answer her question.

            Well, why not?  The information won't do anyone any harm.  "After you called me and said you couldn't see me again, I…I traced the phone number and went over there as Batman."  Now it's his turn to drop his eyes.  He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.  "It was a pretty stupid thing to do, I know.  I found some stolen jewellery with a playing card on it," he explains.  "You know the rest."  Actually, he'd had his suspicions before then, but they were too vague to count.

            Melanie sighs.  He somehow gets the impression that she wants to continue this conversation, but she does just the opposite.  "Sorry.  I really got us off track."

            "It's okay," Terry assures her.  It was his fault, too.

            She gets back to business, much to his relief.  "Anyway, my boss wants to meet you – Batman – you know – at midnight tonight.  You pick the place."

            _That_ was something – she is going out of her way to make sure he can meet her on his own terms.  He thinks for a few moments, trying to pick a good place.  "Tell her," he says, "To meet me at the big dock by the Pier."  Although the Pier shopping mall and amusement park were still open and bustling at midnight, the dock near it would be empty.  It was a good place, since it was easy to find but still relatively out of the way.

            Melanie nods.  Then she smiles.  "Meeting with you will mean a lot to her.  Thanks for coming."  She starts backing up, waves to him and then turns to dart out of the park, like she wants to get away from him as quickly as possible.  He understands why, since he too is relieved that their meeting is over.  The history between them won't permit anything else.

            Terry starts making his own way out of the park.  Only when he finally leaves it and steps out onto the concrete does it occur to him to wonder what the hell he's just gotten himself into.

* My sources say that Gotham City is supposed to be in New Jersey, by the way.


	18. Chapter Seventeen : Connections

            _What am I doing here?_ he thinks to himself as he waits on the roof of a warehouse by the dock, hidden in the concealing shadow of an air vent.  Several hundred meters away the Pier shopping mall is ablaze with electric stars and marquees and tangles of neon.  The light show of the amusement park beyond that is even more riotous.  But this dock, by contrast features few lights and many shadows.  Although it is close to crowded places in terms of physical distance, in terms of atmosphere it might as well be a hundred miles away, since it's as empty as those other places are full.  And it's a perfect place for a clandestine meeting, because so many people can see it but nobody actually _notices_ it.

But the idea of meeting with someone this way, for any reason, makes him uncomfortable.  It's like something a crook or drug dealer would do.  So he keeps asking himself why he's doing this – why he's here five minutes before midnight, waiting to meet someone he doesn't know at a rendezvous set up by someone he shouldn't trust.  Is it because he's curious?  Because he's concerned?  Or because Melanie is involved, even if only in some minor way?

            Terry's trying desperately to convince himself that this isn't about Melanie at all.  Might as well try to make himself think that two plus two equals five.

He wonders what Mr. Wayne will have to say about this.  _He'll probably give me a thorough chewing-out for this_, Terry supposes.  _I sure as hell deserve it_.  But, foolish though it may have been, he promised he'd be here and he can't just leave.

"_Three minutes to midnight,_" Max says into his transmitter, startling him a little.  Until recently she could only talk to him through the Batmobile's communications system, since Wayne had designed the suit's transmitter to be accessible from the computer in the cave and nowhere else.  Obviously Terry could not let Max into the cave without Wayne's permission (which he wouldn't be getting anytime soon), so she'd had to figure out a way to hack the channel from her own computer – which, of course, she had managed to do with about two hours of work.  She couldn't manage a video link, though, since her computer isn't powerful enough for that.  "_See anything?_" Max asks him.

"Not yet," Terry answers as he scans the desolate, crate-covered expanse between the dock and the mall.  Then he catches something, a person walking the narrow alleys between the stacked crates.  "Hold on," he says.  He squints at the figure in the distance.  After a moment the synaptic sensors in his cowl get the hint and the display before his eyes changes as it telescopes in on the person, until it's as if Terry's only two meters away from him instead of half a hundred.

Correction: it's a _her._  The light amplification systems in his mask allow him to see her clearly.  He recognizes her – he last saw her almost a week ago, when one of the Kobras who broke into VibranTech tried to take her as a hostage.  And, since she is supposed to be Melanie's boss, she's almost certainly the person that Commissioner Gordon was speaking to on the holophone a few days ago.  He'd thought the voice sounded familiar at the time, but he wasn't sure.

"_I've got an ID on her,_" Max tells him.  "_Natalie Milou, president of VibranTech Industries._"  That confirms Terry's guess.  "_Hmm.  You think she'd have a bodyguard with her or something_."

"Not if she wants to keep this private," Terry says.  And after seeing how she handled the Kobra who put a knife to her throat, he's inclined to think that maybe she doesn't _need_ a bodyguard.

"_If she does, maybe I should log off_," Max suggests.  "_Wouldn't be fair to listen in._"  Typical Max – doesn't have any qualms about hacking into the Defense Department's network, but feels that it's wrong to eavesdrop on a private conversation.

Terry thinks for a moment.  Would Mr. Wayne be okay with staying on the link in a case like this?  Yes, probably, but then again he wouldn't have approved of this meeting in the first place.  But Max isn't Wayne, and he's not sure if it would be a good idea for her to hear this.  And there's more to it than ethics – he hasn't completely dismissed the possibility that this might be a trap of some kind.  Should he let her hear, or not?

Eventually he decides to leave it up to her judgment.  "If you want to," he says.

"_Okay.  Just call me back when it's over,_" she reminds him.  Then he hears a _click_ as the channel between them is closed.  He's on his own now.

Looking down, he sees that Milou has reached the beginning of the dock itself.  She's sticking to the shadows, so she's near the wall of the warehouse he's sitting on.  The woman isn't half-bad at sneaking – if Terry didn't have the mask, with its sound and light amplification, he probably wouldn't know she was there at all.  She comes to a stop with her back to the warehouse wall, and starts looking around for him.

Terry slides to the edge of the roof, then takes a little jump when he reaches the edge and twists around in midair so that he lands facing Milou.  He's obviously startled her, because she has dropped into a standard ready position, facing him side-on with her hands up and her feet one shoulder-width apart, with one slightly in front of the other.  But it takes her only a second to see that it's him and return to a neutral pose.

She's not dressed in a fine tailored business suit this time, having eschewed that for a black sleeveless t-shirt and close-fitting black denim jeans, which are more practical in present circumstances.  Her shoes are a cross between sneakers and low boots, black like the rest of her clothes.  A slim black-banded watch on her left wrist and a pair of silver stud earrings are all she wears in the way of jewellery.  With the small leather backpack she's wearing, she looks like a perfectly ordinary twenty-something girl out for a night on the town.  Then again, her outfit would also be good for a professional burglar, assassin or spy.

Milou nods a greeting.  "Good of you to come," she says, as if the two of them are much better acquainted than they actually are.  But the meaning of the phrase changes completely when he realizes that she's not just saying it – she was actually worried that he might not show up.

"I try to keep my appointments," Terry replies.  _Of course I don't always succeed, but…_  "And I guess you could say you've piqued my curiosity."

She raises an eyebrow at him.  "If that's what you want to call it."  Then she puts a thoughtful finger to her lips.  "I thought you'd be surprised to see me again.  But I suppose you did some research – or you keep tabs on the big ones you put away, something like that."  She says the words casually, like she's just making small talk.  It strikes Terry as being a bit ridiculous, and also a bit amusing.  He just nods in reply.

            "Ah.  In that case, you might know why I wanted to meet with you."  She cocks her head to the side a little, her eyes turning the statement into a question.

            Terry thinks for a moment, assembling the information he has on her into some kind of theory.  A year of working with Mr. Wayne has taught him how to use the particular combination of logic and intuition that lets him do such things with relative ease.  "You've found out who hired Kobra to break into your plant?" he asks.  There's a little more to it than that – she's probably meeting with him because she can't deal with the threat to her company through standard agencies of law enforcement, or at least not in the way that she'd like to.

            "That's one reason," she says.  "There was another attempt yesterday.  More subtle this time.  They sent in a man disguised as one of the computer technicians.  Luckily a guard caught him trying to bypass a retinal scanner.  I had his equipment checked out before we shipped him to the police station – a good thing, too, because he died before he could be interrogated.  I think his employers gave him some kind of time-release toxin, but I can't be sure until an autopsy is done."  Milou looks around, as if checking for snoopers, before continuing.  "My people are analyzing some of the software and gadgets he was carrying.  Soon we may be able to figure out who he was working for."

            Terry's not sure he likes this.  "You didn't give them to the police?"

            Milou frowns slightly.  "As you well know, law enforcement agencies are not always effective.  Especially in cases like these."

            He can't deny that she's got a point.  Terry lets the subject drop.  But there's something else bothering him.  "Okay.  You said that was one reason for this meeting.  What's the other one?"

            She grins, her teeth a bright flash in the surrounding darkness.  "Something you'll be very interested in.  It concerns Kitsune."

            Oh, he's _definitely _interested.  But he instinctively hides it, toning it down to mild curiosity.  "What about her?"

            Milou sighs and looks upwards for a moment.  "There's really no delicate way to say it, I suppose."  She looks him in the eye again.

            "Kitsune, and the others like her, are working for me."


	19. Chapter Eighteen : Counsel

            Terry's been shocked frequently over the past week, but the cold gut-punching, scalp-prickling, dry-mouth sensation he gets on hearing this seems no less fresh for that.  But he recovers from it quickly – in the suit, he is cushioned from mental and emotional blows as well as physical ones.  It is, of course, a feature of his own mind rather than the suit itself.  Disbelief and rationality supplant most of the shock within a few seconds.  "Excuse me, but I find that a little hard to believe."  No point in freaking out completely if he's not even certain that she's telling the truth.

            Milou tilts her head to the side a bit and shrugs.  "I didn't think you would.  But I can prove it, if you're willing to wait a few minutes."

            He nods.  She lifts her left arm and presses a button on her watch.  A small block of text appears in the lower left corner of Terry's field of vision, informing him that the watch has emitted a high-frequency signal of some kind.  "There.  Now we just have to wait," Milou says.

            In the meantime, though, Terry has a few questions for her.  "Assuming that you're telling the truth – why tell me now, or at all?"

            "A decision based on prior experience," she says.  "I sent a message to the Justice League two months ago, to tell them what I was intending to do, and to ask if they would give me their cooperation and support.  They said no.  More than that, they seemed to be under the impression that I'd asked for their permission.  I didn't like being treated that way, so I didn't try to negotiate with them.  I just went ahead without their support.  Although I thought you'd see the merit in it, I couldn't find a way to contact you.  Until recently, anyway."

            Terry remembers his own brief collaboration with the JLU, and the reasons _why_ it had been brief.  He understands why they didn't approve Milou's project – or whatever it is – and he can't really blame her for going against their wishes.  "I'm still not sure whether I like what you're doing, either," he admits.  Milou actually seems a little disappointed to hear it.  "But I'll leave you alone unless you give me a reason to do otherwise.  I think you know what I mean."

            Milou nods gravely.  "I do.  And let me assure you that if any of my people violate the rules, I will take action myself."

            Something catches Terry's eye – something coming towards them from inland.  Milou notices where his gaze is going, and she turns around to look.  Telescoping his view, Terry is able to make out the object more clearly: it's the proof that confirms Milou's claim.

            Kitsune's armor, clothes, mask and headdress are black, but that changes when she taps a control on her wrist as she comes in for a landing.  By the time she glides to a stop beside them her outfit has finished the transition to brightness and color.  She hops off her hoverboard, which is floating several centimeters off the ground, and grins at him.  It's a nervous grin, and though he can't see her eyes he still recognizes it as such.

            He looks at Milou, who is also grinning but in a different way – she looks like she's about to laugh.  "_Now_ you shouldn't find it so difficult to believe me," she says.

~***~

            Terry returns to the Batcave at about one-thirty, which is earlier than usual, but he feels that he has to try and call Wayne again.  Milou – or Natalie, which is what she wanted him to call her – asked him to keep it to himself and his 'close associates.'  To him, that means Max and Wayne.  He's already told Max.  Since he was speaking to her over the Batmobile's holophone, he got to see the interesting series of facial expressions that she went through as he related the story to her.  He can't even imagine how Wayne will react to the news.

            After pulling off the mask, Terry dials his employer's number on the computer and drums his fingers on the console while he waits for it to connect.  Halfway through the fourth ring the call is picked up.  Because of the distance between them, there's a short pause before Wayne's "_Hello?_" comes through.

            "It's me," Terry says.

            "_Terry, is something wrong?_" Wayne's voice is tinged with that hint of concern that only someone who knows him as well as Terry does could catch.

            "It depends on how you look at it," Terry says.

            "_What's _that _supposed to mean?_"

            "I'll just tell you," Terry replies.  He starts with meeting Melanie in the park and goes on from there.  Although it's hard to say anything at first – he's afraid of what Wayne will think – Terry begins to feel his confusion clear and his nervous tension loosen as he relates the whole story to the old man.  It's good to be able to tell someone who will understand the implications.  But he decides not to tell his boss everything about himself and Melanie.  He knows they were close, but he doesn't need to know just how close they got.

            After he concludes, there's a long pause that can't simply be accounted for by the distance between them.  "_It looks like I'm missing a lot of excitement back home_," Mr. Wayne finally says, sounding faintly amused.

            "It's not _funny_, Wayne," Terry insists, feeling a renewed sense of panic.  "What am I going to say if the JLU decides to ask me for information?  And how do I know I can trust these people?"  _And what about Melanie?_

            "_If the JLU contacts you, tell them the truth – you know about it, but you've promised not to tell.  I think they'll understand that."_

            "I'm not so sure."

            "_Remember, when this whole thing started they didn't tell us that they knew anything about it in the first place.  They might not talk to you at all."  Now he sounds a little frustrated.  Terry can understand why.  "_If they keep insisting, just keep telling them the same thing.  As long as Milou's people don't cross the line, you're under no moral or legal obligation to break your promise to her.  Just remember that._"  Terry somehow gets the feeling that his boss doesn't feel too conflicted about withholding information from the JLU.  In fact, he may even _enjoy_ it.  "_As for trusting them, I wouldn't worry too much.  They've got a good track record so far – even if it's short.  And since Milou wanted to talk to you about it, she's obviously trying to stay on your good side._"  Another pause.  "_I've got other reasons for trusting her.  Her father was one of my top researchers twenty years ago.  I also saved her mother's life when she was little – so this may be her way of repaying the favor._"_

            Wayne, unlike Terry, does not make explicit distinctions between himself and Batman, but Terry can tell the difference.  "Whoa.  Tell me about it – what happened?"

            "_It's a long story,_" Mr. Wayne says.  "_I'll tell you when I get back._"

            Terry really wants to hear about it now, but he knows he won't be able to convince Mr. Wayne to talk about it until later.  In any case, there's a more urgent matter to deal with.  There had been no way for Terry to get around telling Wayne that Melanie had found out his – Batman's – identity.  He's surprised that his boss hasn't mentioned it already.  "What about Melanie?" he asks.    "She knows who I am."

            "_But she hasn't told anyone, has she?_" Mr. Wayne reminds him.

            "No.  At least, she said she didn't."

            "_Do you believe her?_"

            When it comes to Melanie, there are a lot of things Terry isn't sure about.  This, however is not one of those things.  "Yes.  I don't think she's going to tell anybody."  He doesn't doubt that she'll keep his secret – although he's not sure exactly why.  Melanie lived a double life too, but that doesn't account for his certainty.  Especially since Batman was responsible for exposing her. 

            "_I don't think she will, either,_" Wayne says.

            "How do you know?" Terry knows that it's a stupid question before it's halfway out.  Mr. Wayne may not have met Melanie, but he knows people, especially _her_ kind of people.

            Terry finds himself silently mouthing the old man's answer: "_Personal experience._"

            "I should've known," Terry grumbles to himself.

            "_There's no reason to worry about her,_" Mr. Wayne says, "_Although I doubt that makes you feel any better._"

            _The hell it doesn't,_ Terry thinks to himself.  He's reminded of something else he wanted to tell Wayne about.  He can't believe he forgot it.  "There's…one other thing," Terry says hesitantly.  "Mom found out."  He takes the lack of a reply from Wayne as a signal that he should elaborate on that.  "She said she figured it out about a month ago.  But she only told me the day you left and…hell, I was scared to let you know.  We're still working it out."  He feels like a complete idiot right now.

            The first thing Terry expects is some angry remark followed by a lecture.  There are a number of other potential reactions he has in mind.

            What Wayne says, however, is not one of the things on his list.  "_Hm.  I was wondering how long it would take her to figure it out._"

Terry sputters.  "_What?_" is the only coherent word he can get out.

"_You _were _going to tell her at some point, weren't you?_" Wayne asks.

"Well…yeah, but…"  Terry attempts to collect himself.  "I _did_ tell her, during that whole thing with Ian Peek, but she didn't believe me.  And _that_ was only because I was desperate.  Otherwise it…it just never seemed like the right time," he confesses.

"_Terry, you should have known that she was going to find out eventually.  She's your mother._"

"Y'know, I wish you'd _told_ me that.  I thought you didn't want her to find out."  Terry realizes how angry he sounds.  This conversation is completely the opposite of what he had anticipated.

"_I didn't think I _needed_ to tell you,_" Wayne says calmly.  "_It's common sense.  I thought you would tell her before she found it out on her own._"

Terry sighs and looks up at the ceiling of the cave.  He hears a chorus of squeaks from some of the resident bats, sees their shadows flicker on the stone above.  "I might as well have the word 'clueless' tattooed on my forehead," he remarks bitterly.

"_Self-pity never did anyone any good,_" Mr. Wayne chides him.  "_And things could have been a lot worse.  With both of them._"

Every time he thinks he has the old man figured out…"I thought you were going to be mad at me," he admits.

"_Their finding out about you wasn't your fault.  It couldn't be avoided._"  Although Wayne says this matter-of-factly, Terry finds it a little easier to breathe when he hears it.  "_As for the other situation, you're doing well enough._"  High praise, coming from him.  "_Just keep your eyes and ears open.  Don't tell Barbara yet – wait until I get back._"

"Okay.  When _are_ you coming back?"

"_In two or three days, I hope._"  Then Terry hears a distant voice on the other end of the line – it's too faint to make out the words.  The voice continues for a couple of seconds, and he hears Wayne say "_I'll be with him in a minute._"  He gets back to the phone.  "_I have to go.  Tracking down all the money that Marshall stole is getting to be a Herculean task.  You sure you can handle things for another couple of days?_"

Terry's got it tough here, but in his imagining Wayne's current work in Osaka is a lot tougher.  "I think I'll be able to juggle another disaster or two before things start going critical," he says.

That gets a small chuckle from his boss.  "_Hopefully you won't need to.  Call me if anything else happens._"  Then there's a _click_ as he hangs up.


	20. Chapter Nineteen : Goodbye

            Terry can't seem to fall asleep.  That's unusual for him – even though some of the stuff he has to deal with as Batman would keep most regular people up half the night, he's usually so slagged by the time he goes to bed that he's off in REMville almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

            Of course he has nightmares.  Nightmares, as Wayne told him, come with the job.  Or maybe it's because you tend to have bad dreams when you don't get a lot of sleep – that's something his dad told him, way back when.  Maybe it's a combination of both.  Either way, Terry's gotten used to them.  What he isn't used to is not falling asleep at all.

            Right now he's bone-tired, even though the night was relatively quiet and didn't require much in the way of physical exertion.  His mind keeps racing around in circles, from Melanie to Tanya Wooten to his mother, slogging through different swamps of emotion for each.  Terry doesn't know which one is worse.  He pulls the bedcovers over his head and buries his face in his pillow, but a few seconds of that and he feels uncomfortably warm – it's one of those summer nights in which even a sheet feels like too much.  Can't get to sleep that way.  Terry pushes the sheet and blanket off, then lies on back, staring up at the ceiling.  He shuts his eyes and takes deep breaths.  Then he realizes that if he wants to get to sleep, he shouldn't be on his back.  He's used to sleeping on his stomach.  Heaving a weary sigh, he flips over and lies with his left arm dangling over the edge of the bed.

            He needs to stop himself from worrying somehow, occupy his mind with something else.  To that end he tries the old standby of counting sheep, but abandons that after he reaches number ten.  _God-damn._  Maybe the periodic table of elements will work.  He tries running though it in his head, imagining that he's reciting the familiar syllables.  Once he gets to uranium his mind starts moving more slowly, and he has trouble remembering the next one.  Then he falls into half-dreams in which he sees faint images of shadows and molecules.  Whispering voices speak of imaginary elements with impossible properties.  In his mind's eye he sees a printed page, with a diagram of some kind at the top, and he realizes that it's from his chemistry textbook.  He has to read it – he's studying for a big test tomorrow.  But when he tries to focus on the words, they shift and change, degenerating into incoherent scribbles…

            A noise from the other side of the room pulls him back to the waking world.  Terry jerks up and twists around to look.  He sees the silhouette of a person lifting the blinds out of the way and slipping though the open window.  In a second he's crouching on the bed, ready to spring on the intruder.  The latter freezes, one foot on the floor, the other knee still on the windowsill.  In the light that comes through the window, Terry can make out a pair of blue eyes and pale blond hair.

            "_Melanie?_" he exclaims, almost losing his balance and falling off the bed.  She puts a finger to her lips and he realizes that he said her name rather too loudly.  He's mortified to have her see him in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, even though she's seen him in less.  Sort of.  But there's no cover close to hand, except for the bedclothes, and pulling them over himself or using them as an impromptu cloak would show her just how nervous he is.  That's not an option, then.  Instead he sits down, swings his legs to the floor and stands facing her, trying to look confident and intimidating.  _And probably failing miserably at it._  "What are you _doing_ here?" he demands in a harsh whisper.

            She meets his gaze with a look that is somehow both vulnerable and defiant.  "I couldn't sleep.  I had to talk to you – in person."

            Another thing Terry's nervous about: He doesn't have his relationship with Dana to help him keep himself in check.  Although that didn't exactly work _last_ time.

            "You could've waited until tomorrow…I mean, later.  Geez…"  He takes a step backwards and reaches for the light-switch near the door.  After turning the dial beneath it to its lowest setting he flips the lights on.  The resulting illumination isn't much, but it's better than the meager light that was filtering in through the gaps in the blinds.  It's enough to let him see without hurting his darkness-dilated pupils.  "You didn't have to come in through the window, either."

            "If I'd waited I would have gotten too scared to come here.  Then I'd regret it."  She looks around.  "And it's not like I can use the front door at 3 AM."

            Terry's of two minds about this.  He can't decide whether he should shoo her out or listen to what she has to say.  Although he knows that number one would be the better choice, he can't bring himself to go through with it.  "Okay," he concedes, trying to speak more gently.  "So you wanted to talk to me – what's this about?"  That sounds stupid, but no less stupid than anything else he could have said.

            Melanie leans back against the window frame,  and lowers her eyes.  "I felt like…after today, in the park…it shouldn't end just like that.  It didn't _feel_ right."  She looks up at him again.  "The way it ended last time wasn't right either."  Terry doesn't know if she's referring to the note she left him, which he didn't read, or the fact that she bolted away from a fight between Batman and the Royal Flush Gang so she wouldn't have to choose a side.  It's also possible that she means both.  He doesn't think the conversation they had two months ago, outside the diner where she worked, really counts.

            "If you mean you wanted to say goodbye, this isn't exactly a great way to do it either," he tells her.

            Melanie shifts uncomfortably and looks down again.  Terry realizes that he's hurt her feelings, and feels deeply ashamed.  "I'm sorry.  I…that didn't come out the right way." 

            "No, you're right," she says softly.  "I'm not very good at saying goodbyes.  I just figured that a bad one would be better than nothing at all."

            Terry doesn't know what to say.  But he thinks there's some sense in Melanie's words – in his life, she's something unresolved, a loose end that keeps dangling in front of him.  Maybe he's the same way for her.  He takes a cautious step towards her.  "What happens after that?" he asks.  "If we see each other again?"  Since she works in Natalie Milou's little side operation, they'll definitely be seeing each other again.  And they seem to run into each other a lot as it is, anyway.

            She catches her lower lip between her teeth, brushes a strand of hair back from her forehead.  "I guess…it should be like the whole thing between us didn't happen.  Being in love, I mean," she replies, her voice trailing off towards the end.  Melanie lowers her eyes again.

            "That's probably the best thing we can do," Terry agrees.  The idea of it, though, makes him feel disappointed – more than it should, he thinks.

            "Yeah," Melanie says in a near-mumble.  "Except…"  She lifts her head again, and Terry's breath catches in his throat.  Her eyes are shimmering with tears.  A drop coalesces in the corner of her right eye and rolls down her cheek.  "…I don't _want_ to say goodbye."  Melanie shudders and lowers her head again, then lifts a hand to her eyes to wipe away the tears.  A small, strangled sob escapes from her lips.

            Terry's not sure what to do.  He can't just _stand_ there and watch her cry.  "Melanie…" he begins, but can't find anything else to say.  There _has_ to be something he can do to comfort her.  For a few seconds he stands frozen in indecision – then emotion overcomes sense, and he walks up to her.  He lifts his hands and gently puts them on her shoulders.  "It's okay," he whispers, even though they both know it isn't okay at all.

            Melanie lifts her eyes to look into his.  Her eyes glisten with melancholy beauty, and the streams of tears on her face seem to sparkle in the light.  She sniffs, takes in a shaky breath, and before Terry can do anything she's hugging him tightly and sobbing against his shoulder.  He puts his arms around her and holds her close.  _You shouldn't be doing this_, says a voice in the back of his head.  But that voice is weak and faint, and it can't make a convincing argument, not when she seems to fit so perfectly in his arms…

            He suddenly finds himself kissing her, although he's not sure how he ended up that way, whether it was him or her who started it.  It doesn't matter, though.  The taste and feel of her lips gives him an intense thrill he's never gotten with anyone else, not even Dana, and at the same time it makes him feel more at peace than he has in a long time.  He forgets that he was ever Batman, or that she was ever Ten.  Now they're just plain Terry and Melanie, with no secrets or sins to trouble them.

            Although he wants to hold the kiss forever, he has to take a breath.  She seems to sense it, and they break off the kiss, loosening their embrace a little so that they're looking into each other's eyes.  Melanie's smiling, a truly happy smile that echoes Terry's own feelings.  She lifts a hand and gently brushes it down his left cheek, his neck, and to his chest.

            Suddenly her whole aspect changes – now she's tough and hostile, her teeth bared, and she pushes herself away from him.  Terry feels a sudden jolt of pain between his ribs where her hand was, a pain that slowly spreads outwards like an opening blossom.  The center of it pulses between greater and lesser degrees of agony.  He gasps as he feels something warm trickling from the point of origin, and he looks down to see what it is.  His eyes widen when he sees a knife sticking from his chest, driven into him all the way up to the hilt, and there's a bloodstain creeping out from it, a red flower growing on the fabric of his shirt.  Then his mind makes a connection.  Melanie's just stabbed him, right through the heart.  Panic rises in his mind, but he doesn't feel the cold shot of adrenalin that usually comes with it.  His damaged body can't generate the physical sensations that come with fear.  That makes the feeling he _does_ have much, much worse.

            "Melanie…what…" he looks up at her, desperately seeking an answer.

            But she isn't Melanie anymore.  She's Ten, half black and half white, her red eyes glittering malevolently, her demonic red lips pulled back in a grin that shows her sparkling teeth.  Terry wants to back away from her, but he finds that he's frozen in place.  A strange, fuzzy warmth starts spreading out from his wound even as a numbing cold starts advancing from his fingers and toes.  The edges of his vision start to blur.

            Ten reaches out a hand and, with one swift movement, yanks the knife from his chest.  The fresh burst of pain brings with it a sickening wave of sensation that shatters his strength and makes his vision waver.  He can feel his life's blood pouring from the now-open wound as he falls to his knees.

            She kneels down in front of him, that horrible smile still fixed on her face.  Terry sees the knife in her hand, its blade covered in dripping crimson that is bright even in the dimness of the room.  With a flick of her wrist Ten tosses the knife over her shoulder, and he hears it ­_thunk_ against the wall and fall on the carpet.  Then she seizes his head with both hands, one on top of his head and one under his chin, and pulls his face towards hers until they're facing each other across a gap of a few centimeters.

            "Goodbye, Terry," she says in a voice full of wicked, malicious glee overlaid by a thin icing of melancholy.  Then she kisses him, and for some reason he notices that her red lips are not part of the mask she wears – they're her own, uncovered, and they have the same texture as they did when he kissed her a few moments before.  But this kiss tastes like bitter poison, and it's suffocating him.  He tries to breathe through his nose, but he can't get even the smallest bit of air.  Although he struggles to pull himself away from her, he finds that he's too weak to break her grip.  His lungs begin to burn, a background to the pain of the knife wound in his chest, and then everything fades into darkness…


	21. Chapter Twenty : Good Morning

            …and the next thing he knows he's sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for air, his muscles tense and his heart running at a thousand kilometers an hour.  The next thing he becomes aware of is the sheen of cold sweat on his skin, and then that there's daylight showing through the cracks in the blinds.  His hands fly to his chest, over his heart where the knife was, and he looks down at himself with wide, anxious eyes.  He finds, much to his relief, that he is undamaged.

            _It was a dream.  Just a bad dream…_Terry shuts his eyes, puts a hand to his forehead and sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair.  He takes slow, deep breaths, trying to concentrate on getting oxygen in and out of his lungs to calm himself down.  His heart rate slows back to something near normal.

            Then he realizes that, in his nightmare, he didn't think to scream for help after he was stabbed.  Screaming would have been a perfectly natural thing to do.  Maybe he didn't because he's used to _responding_ to cries for help instead of sending them out.  He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to think about it, so he doesn't wonder about it for very long.

            Terry looks at the digital clock.  It's 7:09, almost two hours before his alarm is set to go off – he's been getting up at 9 AM since the summer began.  He thinks about going back to sleep until then, but he immediately dismisses the idea.  There's no way he'll get back to sleep after _that_.

~***~

            He goes through his morning preparations in a burned-out haze, feeling like his conscious mind and his body aren't properly connected to each other.  Sometimes he feels that way when he wakes up after a night of very little sleep, but the feeling usually dissipates after about ten minutes of being up and about.  Not so today.  He looks at his face in the mirror after he's done getting dressed and sees a stranger looking back it him.  With a sigh, he heads for the kitchen.

            His mom is eating breakfast – her workday starts at eight-thirty.  She looks up when she hears Terry come in.  "Terry!  You're up early…"  Then she peers at him.  "Is something wrong?"

            For the past several years he has always responded to that question with a very vague answer or an outright lie.  But after the whole Batman business, she's not going to be satisfied with that.  "I had a weird dream," he explains.

            She looks concerned.  "Do you have nightmares a lot?" she asks seriously.  He knows that if he answers in the affirmative, she will attribute those bad dreams to his job, which is easy to understand.  This dream, however, wasn't exactly related to that.

            "Yeah, but they aren't usually this bad," he says with perfect honesty.

            For a few seconds she just looks at him, a wistful smile on her face.  "You know, when you were little, you'd always want me to hug you after you had a nightmare," she remarks.

            The hint is obvious and, truth be told, Terry's glad that she's giving him the excuse so he doesn't have to ask or go without this little bit of comfort.  He smiles and walks over to his mother, who stands up and puts her arms around him.  She pats him comfortingly on the back.  Even though she's shorter than he is, it makes him feel like he's a little kid again.  Usually that's not a good thing, but this is an exception.

            After a few seconds they part, and she sits him down at the table.  "Tell you what – I'll make you breakfast.  You look like you need it.  How long has it been since you've had scrambled eggs and French toast?"

            Terry shrugs.  "Well, the last time I remember, I think Matt was still in diapers."  They both have a chuckle over that.  Then Terry realizes something.  "Won't you be late for work, though?"

            His mother makes a dismissive gesture.  "I haven't missed a day of work for the past year, and I've almost never been late.  I'll just call and say that Matt's not feeling well."  She grins.  "You get out the breakfast things while I'm on the phone "Yes ma'am," Terry says as he gets up.  He wonders why she's doing this – he's even a little suspicious – but then he feels foolish.  After all, she's his _mother.  She'll probably tell him her reasons later._

            His mom calls her place of business while he gets out the pans, bowls and other breakfast-making tools, as well as some eggs, butter, frozen bacon strips, bread and other relevant foodstuffs.  By the time his mother's gotten off the vidphone he has all the stuff ready and the electric range warmed up.  She comes in, washes her hands and starts getting to work, deftly spreading bread slices and bacon strips on one of the large pans.

            "Need any help?" Terry asks.

            "You can mix up the eggs," she informs him as she puts some butter on the bread and spreads it around with the spatula.  "Half a dozen should be enough."

            Terry nods and cracks a few eggs into a large bowl, then picks up a whisk and starts scrambling them.  The smell of cooking takes him back to when he was about the same age that Matt is now, when his parents were together, and he almost expects his father to walk into the kitchen in his pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, with a yawn and a cheerful good morning.

            "This brings back memories," he says, half-cheerfully and half-mournfully.  His mother pauses for a moment in the process of flipping over one of the bread slices, then nods solemnly.  She knows what he's thinking about.

            For about a minute after that, neither one of them says anything.  Terry starts cooking the scrambled eggs by himself – his cooking skills in general may be mediocre, but it's hard to mess up scrambled eggs unless you're the type who can also mess up on microwave meals or a bowl of cereal.  Suddenly his mother decides to break the silence.  "You know, since we talked a couple of days ago, I've been thinking…"  Terry tenses up, but says nothing.

"At first I thought that, if this city needs a Batman, he shouldn't be my son.  Then I remembered all the things Batman had done - you had done – since you started a year ago.  There are probably a lot of other things I _didn't hear about," she adds with a touch of humor as she slides the bacon strips onto a nearby plate, flips the bread slices and gets more bacon for frying.  "If you're willing to do something so challenging, and you do it so well, then I don't think anything I say can make you give it up."_

Terry doesn't like where this is going.  "Mom…"

"Relax, I'm not trying to take you on a guilt trip," she assures him.  "What bothers me is that I didn't figure it out sooner."  She shoots a sidelong glance at the pan of scrambled eggs he's making.  "You'd better take those off the stove, dear."

He's confused by the sudden change of subject.  "What?"  His eyes go to the pan.  "Oh.  Sorry."  Terry slides the scrambled eggs on to a nearby plate and goes to the sink to wash the pan and spatula.  "Don't be so hard on yourself, mom.  After all, I was trying really hard to keep you from finding out about it."

His mother shakes her head and sighs.  "No, that isn't it.  I know parents aren't supposed to tell their kids about these kinds of things but…I think I should tell you."  She pushes the last pieces of bacon and toast onto the plates beside the stove and goes to join him at the sink with her own cooking implements.  "After your father died and you got the job with Mr. Wanye, you didn't seem to need my help, or even want it.  I thought it would be best to just let you go your own way as long as you didn't do anything bad."

She doesn't say anything for a few seconds after that.  Terry decides he has to prompt her.  "But…?"

"Well, when I figured out that you were Batman, I felt…like I'd made the same mistake twice.  Because after you were…" – she takes a barely noticeable fraction of a second to build up her courage – "_arrested a few years ago, I felt like it was my fault for not paying enough attention to you."_

"That wasn't anyone's fault but mine," Terry says quietly.  He can understand why she feels that way, though – he'd started going with the gang, getting into trouble, during the last year of his parents' marriage.  One couldn't help but think that his own downward spiral was related to what his parents were going through at the time, especially since he'd gotten busted less than a month after their divorce was finalized.  But the mistakes that had landed him in juvie had been his own, not his parents'.

His mother shrugs as she starts drying the pans.  "Maybe we're both responsible.  That's not what matters right now, though."  She takes him by the shoulders and turns him to face her, so that she can look him in the eye.  "I just don't want us to get that far apart again.  Once is too many times already, and it's happened twice."  She looks down thoughtfully for a moment, then back up at him.  "There are certain things I can't help you with, even if I want to.  I know that.  But everything I can do to help you, I will.  Just tell me.  I'll always be here for you."

Terry is alarmed to feel tears gathering in his eyes, and to find that he has nothing adequate to say.  He's saved from both problems, though, by his little brother – of all people – whose door he hears squeaking open on the other side of the apartment.  "Matt's up," he informs his mother.  She turns around and goes to the kitchen doorway to meet her younger son, who sort of waddles in rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Good morning, honey," his mother says as she bends over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"I smelled breakfast," Matt says.  His eyes catch the plates of food that Terry is setting out on the table, and his face lights up.  "Oooh!  You made French toast!  I _love French toast!"  He throws his arms around his mother.  "Thank you, Mom!"_

She laughs and picks him up, even though he's almost too big for it.  Terry expects Matt to ask why she cooked a big breakfast, when there's no obvious occasion for doing so, but after they all sit down at the table he realizes that his little brother isn't even wondering about it.  He's too innocent to have a sense of suspicion about these things.  As Terry watches him spear a whole piece of French toast on his fork and lift it to his mouth, he thinks to himself:  _Someday I'll have to tell him, too.  But not today.  He can preserve his little brother's ignorance, and by extension his innocence, for a while longer._

Matt notices how Terry is looking at him and he lifts his eyes from his plate.  "What're you looking at me for?" he asks.

"You're eating bacon," Terry replies.  "That's cannibalism."

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is."

"But it's from a pig, and I'm not a pig!"

"Yes you are.  You eat like one, anyway."

Matt sticks his tongue out and kicks Terry under the table.

"That's enough," his mother says, albeit good-naturedly.  "I made a nice breakfast for you – the least you can do is behave while you eat it."

"Yes, mom," Matt says despondently.  With the passing of a few seconds' time and a few more forkfuls of food, however, he forgets the whole incident and attacks his breakfast with a cheerful smile.

Terry's thankful that his brother doesn't know the secret.  Matt is completely uninvolved in Batman's world, which makes him safer.  And, a little selfishly, Terry is glad that this little bit of his life, at least, is still his own. 


	22. Chapter Twenty One : Swing Shift

            Terry ends up taking Matt to his summer day camp.  His mother, when she leaves for work, tells him to take his little brother on the subway and _not_ his motorcycle.  At the time, Terry says that he will follow her advice, and he means it.  But Matt's presentation of a costume helmet and a puppy-eyed plea awaken in Terry a sense of intense fraternal affection, and he can't help but say yes, just this once.  So Matt rides to camp on the back seat of his motorcycle, with a lot of ecstatic whooping and hollering.

            The camp is actually located in a large domed park atop a fifty-story building, with its offices and other facilities contained in the top floor.  Terry lets his brother off near an external elevator at the side of the building that's marked with the camp's name (something so utterly campy, pun intended, that Terry tries to push it out of his mind the instant he reads it).  There group of children lined up outside the elevator are very impressed by Matt's mode of transportation.  The counselor who supervises them has to dissuade them from leaving the sidewalk to approach the bike.

            "Remember," Terry whispers to Matt, "Don't tell mom."

            "I won't.  Cross my heart and hope to die," Matt says solemnly.  Then he runs to join the end of the line.  Terry, who gets some fulfillment out of the knowledge that he's made his little brother happy for today, changes course to head for Wayne Manor.  His mother might conceivably find out about Matt's unauthorized motorcycle ride, but Terry is not afraid of getting in trouble for that.  Being grounded would not make that much of a difference to him right now.

            Since he is without distractions, he finds himself thinking about the nightmare again.  The memory of the terror it caused in him is not so fresh as it was when he woke up this morning, but just thinking about it makes his blood feel just a little bit colder.  It was so _real_; even now, almost two hours later, he can remember every detail, when he forgets most of his dreams within a minute of waking.  He feels like it's been branded on to him, somehow.

            Lost in thought, Terry almost misses his exit on the freeway.  He corrects his mistake just in time by cutting across a lane, inviting someone's car horn and curses.  The offended motorist's passenger, sitting in shotgun, goes so far as to flip him the bird.  He ignores it.

            The narrow road he's following winds about a mile up an incline towards the Manor grounds.  Back when the place was built in the nineteen-twenties, the freeway was a quiet two-lane road, and the majority of those who drove on it (there were few) were either going to or coming from Wayne Manor.  The mansion used to be far, far away from the outskirts of the city, a vast tract of rocky, unoccupied land separating it from Gotham proper.  In the years since then, however, the city has expanded a great deal – now there's only two kilometers' clearance between the outer walls of the estate and the edge of the city, and that's only because Mr. Wayne bought up all the land within a two-kilometer radius of the original estate back around the turn of the millennium, to make sure no unauthorized persons would get too close to the Batcave.  That strategy worked perfectly, except where Terry was concerned.  As far as anyone else knows, Wayne is just too attached to his quiet and privacy to let the city run up against the walls surrounding the hill on which his mansion is perched.

            When Terry gets through the front gate, he's greeted by Ace in the same way that he was yesterday.  The big dog darts into his pet door (cleverly hidden behind some bushes and keyed to open by a chip in his collar) while Terry puts his bike away.  After taking care of Ace's food and water, he heads down to the cave.  He thinks of calling Mr. Wayne, but an uneasy feeling caused by a nightmare would not make a good pretext for it.  Especially since Terry wants to avoid mentioning Melanie to his boss – or anyone else, for that matter – at all costs.  He wishes he could talk to the old man, and at the same time he's glad that Wayne's not here to see how troubled he is and question him about it.

            It's more than just Melanie, though.  With everything that's been going on lately, Terry feels like he's aged ten years in as many days.  His world has been smashed apart and it's being put back together according to some plan he can't comprehend, let alone control.  He felt that way when his parents split up years ago, and even more so when his dad died.  There's no way he can discuss that with Mr. Wayne.  He doesn't want to tell the old man that he feels helpless and lost.

            Terry considers suiting up and starting on his rounds early.  It'll give him something worthwhile to do, and if he can make his life simpler for a few hours longer, then he's all for it.  But something in him rebels against the idea.  Batman can go out in the daylight, but he doesn't like to do so unless something makes it necessary.  He's a nighttime creature, like his namesake.  So Terry does the next best thing; he practices, drilling in all the moves and forms that Wayne and Tenaga _sensei_ taught him.  Focusing on the drills keeps his thoughts out of places where he doesn't want them to go.  Ace reclines nearby, his head resting on his paws, and watches with mild interest, occasionally scratching an itch or shifting to a more comfortable position.

            After a few hours of this, Terry breaks off for a late lunch, then turns on the computer in the cave to do some research.  Back when Mr. Wayne was Batman, he collected every scrap of information that might conceivably be of some use to him and stored it in the databanks.  He has a detailed file on every criminal individual or organization he's ever encountered, and a few he hasn't but is keeping (or kept) an eye on.  There are also files on members of the JLU, both past and present, probably a lot more detailed than they would be comfortable with.  Both good guys and bad guys are listed alphabetically with their personal history, medical records, psychological profiles – everything including the kitchen sink – available at the touch of a button.  It's enough to put the FBI, CIA and Interpol to shame.

            Wayne's also put together files on all of Terry's adversaries.  During Terry's first months as Batman he did it himself.  At some point his protégé became involved in the process – Terry's still not sure whether he did it on his own or with a little push from his boss.  Now this aspect of the operation is split roughly equally between them, with Max providing the occasional bit of help.  Right now, Terry is putting together a file on Natalie's vigilantes.  Wayne already has the beginnings of one, based on news reports and items from 'alternative' sources of information pertaining to the subject.  After that meeting last night (or early this morning, depending), Terry has a whole lot of new information to add to the file.  He wonders if Wayne will be impressed with his work when he returns.  That would be something to see – the old man is extremely difficult to impress.

            Once he's done with that, he searches the Web for more articles on the vigilantes, using their names and cities as criteria.  By now he's got the names of the six that have appeared so far: Kitsune, of course, is the first.  There's a guy called Silverwolf in Philadelphia, a Tigress in Miami, a Thunderbird in Chicago, and a Raven in Houston (a lot of them seem to be into animal themes, but then again, so is Batman).  Last but not least is Musashi, the other person who got his theme from Japanese legend.  Although Musashi, unlike the fox spirit that is Kitsune's namesake, actually existed.  Terry wonders how many people understood the reference.

            That done, he starts looking for more information on Natalie Milou herself.  He's hoping to find something on her and Batman – Terry wants to know just how Mr. Wayne saved her life way back when.  It might give him some clue as to why she's running this operation now.  He's certain that that incident has something to do with it.

            Terry doesn't get much research on her done, however, before the computer emits a warning beep and a window pops up, showing a blinking red dot on a map of Gotham City.  The computer in the cave, like the one in the Batmobile, monitors police frequencies.  He turns up the volume so he can listen to the police broadcasts while he's up and putting on the suit.

            "_This is unit 302 – there's just been an explosion in the lobby of 5603 East 11th street," an officer says.  The address sounds familiar – for a moment Terry can't quite recall why, but when he does he feels an icy hand take hold of his insides and give them a good twist.  It's the Rawlings building, where his mother works.  She's the assistant director of the bank in the lobby._

            "_Copy that, 302.  We're sending additional units and a bomb squad."  That's Commissioner Gordon talking.  "_Ambulances are on the way.  What's the situation down there?_"_

            "_It's difficult to see from here…the doors have been demolished, but there's a lot of smoke.  I'll have to go in for a closer look."_

            "_All right," Gordon agrees, "__But be careful.  Go in slowly."  As Terry pulls the cowl down over his head, he hears a number of sounds coming in from the police radio: there are the back-and-forth messages of police units communicating with each other, the soft sound of movement as the police officer near the Rawlings building edges toward the lobby, and the clashing wails of various sirens._

Suiting up sharpens his senses, focuses his mind, makes his body more graceful and fluid.  It's not the little gadgets in the suit that do this, but the psychological change that takes place when he puts it on and lets Batman take the wheel.  His anxiousness transforms into exhilaration, the force that lets him realize his full potential.

            Terry runs to the Batmobile on its landing pad, presses a button on his belt to open the cockpit.  Then he leaps in and hits a few buttons to start the engine.  The craft powers up, all the cockpit lights go on, and the canopy begins to close.  Terry flips another switch so that he can listen to the police radios over the onboard speakers.

            When he does, he hears a new sound – distant, angry shouts, too faint for him to make out the exact words.  The voice, however, is familiar to him.

            "_It's Mad Stan," Gordon says, putting a name to the voice just as Terry does so in his own mind.  "_Pull back and wait for reinforcements to arrive._"_

            He lifts off from the landing pad and guides the Batmobile towards the cave exit.  The door opens at his approach, and he picks up a little more speed as he goes through.  When it closes behind him, it's impossible to tell the outside of the door from the rock of the cliff face it's set in.  Once Terry's a safe distance from the cave and certain that there's nobody around to see him, he twists the throttle as far as it will go and blasts into the sky, wheeling around to head for the center of Gotham.

            The hunt is on.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two : Calling the Shot

            "_Money is the root of all evil, man!_"  Mad Stan gesticulates wildly as he makes this proclamation from the colonnaded lobby of the Rawlings Building.  Normally the people arrayed on the street outside it – that is, the police positioned behind the semicircular blockade they have made with their cars and temporary barriers – would not have been able to hear his ranting.  But since Stan demolished the bulletproof glass in the front doors and windows with a well-aimed grenade, they can hear him perfectly clearly.

            Chief Barbara Gordon, watching with binoculars from behind a car at the midpoint of the police blockade, surveys the scene.  The lobby of the building is a mess, filled with rubble and broken glass.  She can't see any people in there – other than Mad Stan himself – but some of them might be buried beneath the rubble, or trapped in one of the stores that ring the lobby on three sides.  The object of Stan's wrath seems to be the Rawlings Bank, which is at the far end of the lobby opposite the building's front door.

            "_…The whole country's sold out!  Chucked their principles in the trash for cash!_"  He detaches one of many small grenades from one of the bandoliers he's wearing and tosses it at the police.  Fortunately it's not a very powerful device, and it falls short of the blockade line.  Some of the cars get a little dented, but that's about it.  Barbara thinks he shorted it on purpose – she knows from experience that he has a _very_ good throwing arm, and could probably land one of his little surprises behind the blockade if he really wanted to.

            "Most of the people on the higher floors have gotten out," says Captain Burke, who is her second-in-command for this operation.  Barbara's relieved that Stan didn't take out the causeways that serve the upper stories of the building, or this situation would be much worse than it already is.  That's the kind of thing a terrorist would have done, but Stan's not exactly a terrorist – just a particularly destructive anarchist.  He's going for attention and a lot of property damage, not a body count.  Although he doesn't care how many people get damaged along with the property.

            "What about the ones in the shops?" Barbara asks.

            "Some of them have emergency exits.  The people in those stores are already out of the building," Burke responds.  He's got a portable computer rig with sensor gloves and a visor.  The captain's fingers are fluttering over a keyboard that only he can see, something projected by the visor.  Right now he's also looking at a three-dimensional architectural plan of the lobby, superimposed on the real world before him.  "But some of them don't – the bank doesn't," he says, answering Barbara's question before he asks her.  "They didn't want to provide a quick exit for bank robbers.  People can still get out fast enough if there's a fire in the building, but…well, not in this situation."

            "_…Debt, interest, finance, it's all people can think about!  It's too much!_"

            "Can any of them take the elevators or stairs to the higher floors?"

            Burke shakes his head.  "Negative.  They'd have to go through the lobby to get to either."  Barbara does not, as a matter of principle, swear in front of her officers – she makes a point to set a good example for them – but if she weren't so constrained she'd be saying some pretty nasty words right now.  Stan is punctuating his speech with occasional small explosives, but he isn't tossing any of them into the shops or the bank, just around the lobby in general.  If Barbara has her people go in after them, he'll start doing something more dangerous.

            "_…We're drowning in our own greed, man!  There's only one way to stop the madness!_"  And then comes the familiar refrain: "_Blow it up!  Blow it all up!_"  Stan spins around and tosses a grenade into the bank.  Barbara flinches as it explodes.  The people who were in there when this ruckus started are probably hiding in the offices in the rear, where they will be safe for a while.  How long she doesn't know, but it's probably going to be on the short side.

            "Maybe we should get a S.W.A.T. team in from the roof," Burke suggests.  "He won't be expecting anyone to come in that way."

            Barbara's eyes go upward to the Rawlings Building's highest floors.  If a team goes down by way of the elevator or stairs, they'll be vulnerable once they arrive at the lobby.  If they split the team and send different people down different ways, Stan might still manage to hit some of them with a grenade.  But it's the best available option.  "All right," Barbara agrees, "Call in a S.W.A.T. team to…"  She trails off as a familiar black craft appears overhead, on a course that will take it directly over the roof.

            "Never mind," she says as relief floods through her.  "The cavalry's here."

~***~

            Terry starts to feel nervous again as the Rawlings Building comes into view.  He's acutely aware that he doesn't have Wayne or even Max to help him.  Although he's gone solo before, he's never been up against something this serious on his own.  But, he reflects, there's always a first time.  He tries to stop worrying and start thinking over what to do next.

            First he circles around the building, taking in the police camped out in a semicircle in front of the main entrance of the building.  He can't spot Commissioner Gordon from up here, but he knows she's present – after all, he's been monitoring police communications all the way here.  After he's scoped out the place, he sets the Batmobile on course for the roof and rapidly enters a series of commands into its flight computer.  Once he engages the autopilot, it will pass over the building, then fly around the area waiting for him to call it back.  Terry hits the automatic pilot button, disengages his safety straps and reaches up to grab a lever above his head.  He presses a button on it with his thumb, and a screen on the right side of the dashboard lights up, giving him a view from a camera on the underside of the Batmobile.  Now he can see what's directly below him.

            He's going pretty fast, so once the edge of the roof comes into view he pulls the lever, figuring that he will drop squarely on his target.  The pilot's seat pulls back as the floor under his feet irises open.  Terry slides out and falls five meters, landing right in the center of the roof.  Then he starts scanning for a way down into the building.  In a few seconds he manages to find a service door – an _open_ service door.

            Alarms go off in his head.  There are two likely possibilities; one, somebody just came up here, or two, somebody just went down through it.  And since he hasn't spotted anybody else up on the roof, he's going with number two.  It's possible that Mad Stan got into the building this way, but that's unlikely.  He's a very direct kind of guy, probably just blasted his way through the front door.  Terry moves cautiously towards the open door and darts in, ready to fight if he has to.

            There's nobody on the landing inside.  Just a narrow flight of stairs going down and another door at the bottom, this one closed.  As he heads down the stairs he hears the hum of machinery – this is probably where the elevator equipment is located, the big control boxes that change the magnetic currents on the elevator tracks to move them up or down.  When he gets to the bottom and tries the door, he finds that it's already been unlocked.  He opens it slowly so as not to make any noise and looks into the room beyond it.

            When he sees what's there, he's not sure whether to be relieved or worried.  Kitsune is standing by a bank of six elevators, her back to him (not very smart; she should be facing the door so she can see unexpected comers such as himself).  She has her staff in her right hand.  The fingers of the other hand are in the region of her ear, which means she's listening to a transmitter.  She probably has one in that furry hood of hers, the way Terry has one in his cowl.  He wonders if Natalie Milou is on the other end of the line, giving her instructions the way Wayne does with him.  But the person she's talking to probably isn't anything like Mr. Wayne – otherwise he (or she) would not have allowed Kitsune to leave the door open on her way in or stand with her back to a potential entrance point.__

            She finally becomes aware of Terry's presence when he closes the door behind him, and she whirls around with her staff up in a guard position.  He doesn't flinch, just stays where he is.  After a moment she gets what seems to be an embarrassed look on her face – hard to tell, with the mask and all.

            "Oh.  Um, hi," she says, moving into a neutral position.

            Last night, when Terry first saw her face-to-face, she didn't say very much.  Her boss did most of the talking then.  Terry wishes he had Wayne to help him through this awkward meeting, but he has to decide what's best on his own.  "I suppose you're here for the same reason I am?"

            Kitsune recovers some of her poise.  "Yes.  I didn't expect to see you here – I thought you only worked at night," she says.

            "Mostly."  He decides not to criticize her for her recent mistakes.  If she's smart, she'll take the shock of his arrival as a lesson and be a little more careful next time.

            She nods.  "Well, anyway…I'm glad you came.  Maybe we can help each other."

            Terry thinks about that for a second.  He still has his doubts about her, but he doesn't have a really good reason for refusing.  He nods.

            Kitsune smiles with relief.  "Okay…you've fought this guy before, and I haven't.  So I guess that means you call the shots."  She looks at him expectantly.

            He's surprised – and more than a little flattered – that Kitsune is deferring to him on account of his experience.  After working with Wayne so long, he's used to being the rookie.  This is a nice change, but it's also a little scary.  Even while he's thinking about this, though, he's also cooking up a plan.  "All right.  Here's what we're going to do…"


	24. Chapter Twenty Three : The Bat and the F...

            Tama can't decide whether she's more psyched or scared.  She's about to take on her first big-name bad guy, and she's working alongside Batman.  Those are good reasons to be psyched.  But she's also about to have a close encounter with a grenade-chucking maniac.  That would give anyone pause.

            She and Batman are on the ground-floor landing of the stairwell, looking through the little window in the door that opens onto the lobby.  Mad Stan passes in and out of view as he paces around, waving his arms wildly as he argues for his _cause du jour.  After a few seconds of this they step back from the window and review their strategy one more time._

            "Remember, wait until his back is turned before you go after him," Batman reminds her.  "Got it?"

            She nods.  "Got it."

            Batman goes to the far end of the landing – opposite the door – and crouches, getting ready to rocket through.  "Good luck," Tama says.  
            Maybe it's just her imagination, but she thinks she sees a smile on his face for just a fraction of a second.  "You too.  Here goes…"  For a few tense seconds, he just stays where he is – probably watching with an infrared vision filter, waiting until Mad Stan is directly in his line of sight.  Suddenly he leaps forward, startling Tama.  The thrusters on the soles of his boots propel him through the door, which is ripped right off its hinges.  A second later Tama hears an "_Oof!" from the lobby, produced by Mad Stan as Batman tackles him.  Tama peeks around the corner of the doorway to see what's going on._

            Mad Stan is getting to his feet; Batman has landed in a crouch a few meters away from him.  Stan is facing away from Kitsune, but he doesn't actually have his back to her – if she tries to jump him now, he'll pick her up in his peripheral vision.  She decides to stay where she is until she gets a better opportunity to strike.  Batman is attempting to provide her with one, shuffling sideways so he can get Mad Stan to turn his back to the stairway door.

            "I knew you were comin', man," Stan says as he shifts position so that he can keep Batman in the center of his field of vision.  "So I got a surprise for you!"  He grabs an explosive device from his belt and taps a button on it with his thumb as he pulls back his arm to toss it.  Tama decides that this is a good time to make her move.  She charges out of the door, holding the staff near one end so that she can bring the other around with a mighty swing when she gets close enough to her target.

            Then a whole lot of things happen at once.  Stan throws his grenade, which Batman avoids by leaping out of the way.  The explosion takes out the front-window display of the boutique that Batman was standing in front of just a moment ago.  As the bomb goes off, Stan senses that something is amiss and turns around to look behind him just as Tama lets him have it with her staff, catching him in the abdomen on his left side.  She could have taken him out more easily by aiming for the head, but that might have killed him or at least caused some brain damage, and Tama is aiming to take him alive and without any permanent harm.

            Stan's about as stocky as they come and she hit him near his center of gravity, so she is not surprised when the momentum from her swing fails to knock him over.  Tama pulls her staff back quickly and shifts it into a defensive block as she shuffles backward, barely dodging the blow that Mad Stan aims at her in retaliation for her attack.  He's surprisingly quick for his size.  But he's not as quick as Tama, so she can match her agility against his strength.

            "Geez, man!  There's _two_ of you?" Stan exclaims as he looks back and forth between Batman and Tama.

            "Yeah.  Two for the price of one," Batman responds.  "Must be your lucky day."  Then he takes a running leap into the air, leg out to deal Mad Stan a nice flying kick.  Tama advances slowly, getting ready to launch her own attack while Stan is busy dealing with her ally.  She's surprised when Batman's kick doesn't knock Stan to the ground, but he was obviously prepared.  He just rebounds off Stan and somersaults to land facing him again.  While Stan is still reeling, Tama swings at him again, this time going for the backs of his knees.  She neatly sweeps his legs out from under him, turns the follow-through into an overhand blow as she dances backward, and whacks him on the head.

            Batman flips Stan onto his stomach and handcuffs him before the guy has a chance to recover.  The two of them remove Stan's considerable arsenal of grenades and other toys as the police rush in.

            Tama looks up to see the Commissioner directing her officers into the shops around the lobby to help any civilians who might have been trapped there during Mad Stan's rampage.  Two of her underlings haul the still-woozy Stan to his feet and drag him off to an armored car waiting outside.

            As for the Commissioner, she looks at both Batman and Tama in turn – Tama for a little longer – and nods.  "Thank you," she says, simply but sincerely.  "We'll take it from here."

            "Anytime," Tama says.  Batman just returns the Commissioner's nod.  Then he turns around (rather anxiously, it seems to Tama) to look at the bank.  The police are gently escorting about two dozen people out of there.  The Commissioner heads over to join them.  One of the civillians, a short woman with cropped red hair, smiles and waves at them.  Batman looks ever-so-slightly relieved, and Tama wonders what she's missing here.

            That little exchange over, Batman turns back to Tama.  "Thanks for your help," he says.  Hearing the words from him makes her feel like she's just won the lottery.

            "It was great working with you," she says, as the two of them walk towards the exit onto the street.  Some of the people running around the lobby stare at them for a couple of seconds, but nobody actually approaches them.  "Maybe we should do this again some time," Tama suggests facetiously.  She can't help it.

            Fortunately for her, Batman seems to think that the remark is funny.  "We probably will," he says.  "In that case, I should give you this."  He reaches into one of the pockets on his belt and pulls out a small device that is, judging by the buttons and dials and other things on it, a communicator.

            "I'm afraid I haven't got one of those," she apologizes as he hands it to her.

            "_Oops,_" Alex says over her transmitter, speaking for the first time since she accompanied Batman down to the lobby.  "_I guess we should include those things in our standard equipment.  I'll have one ready for you by tomorrow night,_" he assures her.  Tama decides that this would not be an appropriate time to respond to him, so she doesn't.

            "Is there any other way I can contact you?" Batman asks.

            "_We can send him the frequency for HQ when you get back,_" Alex suggests.

            "I'll send you my frequency when I get back.  This isn't really a good place to do it," she says, with a sweep of her arm that takes in all the hubbub around them.  As they step out of the lobby, Tama hits a recessed button in her belt to call her hoverboard.  She hid it on the roof, so it should be down here in a couple of seconds.

            Batman nods as Tama's hoverboard glides in and comes to a stop next to her, hovering a few centimeters off the ground close by.  She hops on to it and feels her feet tingle as the boots are magnetically clamped to the board.  "I'll be calling you – if something else doesn't come up.  Actually, I probably will if something else _does_ come up."

            That actually gets a smile out of him, albeit a small one.  "Take care," he says.  He stretches out his arms and a pair of black wings with red undersides suddenly snap into place.  Then there's a flash of yellow light as his boot thrusters carry him into the air like a rocket.  Tama watches him as he shoots up, goes into a glide and moves out of view.  Then she departs as well, flying upwards at a forty-five degree angle to the ground.

            "That went well," she remarks to Alex.  Although that's really understating it.

            Alex seems to think so too, if his chuckle is any indication.  "_I think the boss is going to be _very_ happy with us,_" he says.

~***~

            Natalie, Melanie, and Alex are sitting at the table in the meeting room at headquarters while Tama gives them an enthusiastic narrative of the day's events.  Tamakazura Otani is six years older and slightly taller than Melanie, with glossy shoulder-length black hair, hazel eyes, a delicate-looking oval face and the kind of lean, boyish body that ballerinas and gymnasts tend to have.  She also has all the ebullience of a hyperactive child, a trait that shows in the way she tells her story.  Tama learned jiu-jitsu, judo and aikido from her father, who taught a martial arts school in San Francisco.  From there she went to Japan and later China to study some more obscure and difficult types of combat.  After that she went through a series of professions – karate instructor, circus performer, and bodyguard, to name a few – and kept none of them for more than a year.  Sometimes she got fired, sometimes she quit, but always because she tended to get bored after doing the same thing for too long.  She is, by her own admission, working for Natalie because it's more fun than anything else she's ever done.

Alex Jacobson, her assistant, occasionally chimes in when he feels that Tama has omitted or misrepresented some detail of her experience.  Everything about Alex's appearance marks him as a hacker:  He's tall, thin, and pale, with a round face framed by overgrown strawberry-blond hair and black-framed glasses perched on his aqualine nose.  But there are many ways in which he differs from the computer geek stereotype – he's got what Natalie calls Machiavellian guile, and what Melanie calls uncanny street smarts.  He used to be a freelancing electronic security specialist, working for whoever offered him the most money or the most exciting project.  Now he's on VibranTech's payroll, ostensibly as a computer systems administrator and secretly as Kitsune's one-man tech crew.  He's here because he likes a challenge.

And then there's Melanie herself, an eighteen-year-old girl with tawny skin, pale blonde hair and cornflower-blue eyes.  Although she is lovely and intelligent, she finds it difficult to make friends – she moved around too often as a child to form a close relationship with anybody, and after a while she developed a habit of distancing herself from everybody except her immediate family.  Before she worked for Natalie, she was a member of the Royal Flush Gang, until she encountered Batman and fell for his alter ego.  She's still not sure why _she's_ here.  Maybe she's trying to atone for the mess that is her past. 

            While Tama is talking about her meeting with Batman and the fight with Mad Stan, Melanie is wondering what Terry would think if he met Tama as herself, and what she would think if she met him.  Would they know each other for Batman and Kitsune if someone didn't tell them beforehand?  The answer is probably no.  What would they make of each other's normal, everyday selves?  That one she doesn't know the answer to.

            "Mel?  Mel, what's wrong?"  Melanie is jerked out of her reverie by Alex's concerned words.  She's embarrassed to notice that everyone's looking at her.

            "It's…it's nothing," she says.

            Tama looks consternated.  "God, Mel, I'm sorry.  I know you and Batman…"  She trails off.

            "Don't worry about it," Melanie says with as much sincerity as she can muster, even as she thinks _You don't know the _half_ about me and Batman_.  _And I'm glad you don't._

            "Melanie," Natalie says gently, "You look tired.  Why don't you go home for the night?"  Of course she knows that Melanie's inattentiveness is not the result of fatigue – but she would never say so.

            "Thanks, but I'm not really that tired," Melanie replies, grateful for the offer to escape but feeling obligated to refuse it.

            Natalie gets an odd smile on her face, the smile of a mother who is touched by her child's naïveté. She shakes her head.  "I know better than that.  Go home and rest."

            Well, she insisted, so that's that.  Melanie thanks her, says her goodbyes, and leaves the conference room.  From there she heads for one of the secret passages to the surface, one that comes out in a derelict warehouse on the edge of the city.  From there she will take a bus home and try to relax and rest, as Natalie suggested.  But she knows that she won't be able to relax, and she definitely won't be able to sleep.

            She thought she'd gotten over her love for Terry.  He'd certainly gotten over whatever he felt for her.  But when she saw him yesterday afternoon, she realized that her feelings for him hadn't really changed at all.  She' been trying since then to force herself to let go of him.  She has to.  They can never have a happy ending in which love triumphed over all; they can't even have a tragic Romeo-and-Juliet ending.  _That's all over,_ she'd told him.  _It didn't work out_.  She'd said that, but she couldn't make herself believe it.  It doesn't _feel_ over.  She still loves him.

            God help her, she still loves him.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four: A Familiar Fear

_Author's note:  I revised part of this chapter after realizing that I didn't take into consideration certain things that Max and Terry would have done under the current circumstances.  Also, the situation I wanted to lead up to with that section would not have contributed much, if anything, to the overall story.  I'll have to just skip over it, which means changing the phone conversation here._

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

            Once Terry's back in the cave and out of the Batmobile, the first thing that comes into his mind is that he has to call his mother.  It's only been twenty minutes since he left the Rawlings building, but in these situations the reporters inevitably arrive on the scene just minutes after the police.  So if anyone asks how Terry McGinnis knew about what happened there so soon after it took place, he'll have a perfectly good answer for them – one that won't make people suspicious.

            When Terry's wearing the suit he keeps his regular clothes in his backpack, which he keeps in a storage box near the costume display cases.  He goes to retrieve it, removing his mask as he does so, and goes through the pockets, looking for his cell phone.  It's in the pocket of his jacket, which he put in the bottom of the pack, so he has to take out all his other stuff first to get to it.  The little screen on the top says that he has a message waiting for him.  Terry makes a mental note to check it after he's spoken to his mother.

            He presses the speed-dial button for her personal phone number and waits nervously while it rings.  Even though he knows she's okay – he _saw_ her walk out of the bank unscathed, after all – he can't help but worry.  She's probably pretty shaken up by the whole thing.

            Fortunately for his nerves she answers after the third ring.  "_Hello?_"

            "Mom?  I heard something happened at the bank.  Are you okay?"  He hopes she'll get the hint.  Since they're talking to each other over cell phones, he has no idea who might be listening in.  Better play it safe.

            "_You heard..."  She pauses for a moment.  "_Oh!  On the news, you mean?_"_

Terry smiles to himself.  "Yeah.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"_I'm all right, Terry.  A little scared, but all right._" 

"Do you want me to come home?" he asks.  That's when it really hits him – if things had been a little different, this morning might have been the last time he saw her alive.  All the panic he's been holding back for the last hour suddenly washes through him like a torrent of icy water.  It seems to sap all the strength from his body – for a couple of seconds, he has trouble staying upright.  Then the horrible feeling subsides, leaving puddles of stomach-twisting anxiety in its wake.

His mother, on the other end of the line, is silent for a few seconds.  "_Yes,_" she says, in a weak voice that sounds just the way Terry feels.  "_Please come home._"

For a moment Terry wonders if he should really be doing this – it will probably mean taking Batman off the streets for a night.  Then he decides, to hell with it:  Gotham can do without him for a little while.  Right now, someone needs Terry McGinnis.

~***~

            With the way things turn out, Terry doesn't get a chance to check the message on his phone until several hours later, when his mom and his brother are asleep.  Luckily it's good news – from Mr. Wayne, who will be returning home the day after tomorrow.  That makes Terry think of the research he was doing before he got the alarm about Mad Stan.  Now that his mom is all right, he should probably go out.  Kitsune's around now, but this is still Batman's city.

            As he's heading downstairs to the garage his phone rings.  It's a late hour and Wayne is away, so it can only be one person.  He opens the phone and presses the TALK button as he puts it to his ear.  "Hi, Max."

            She's not surprised to be greeted by name.  On the contrary, she probably expects nothing less of him.  "_Hey Terry.__  I thought you'd have called me from work by now."  They don't make overt references to Batman when using regular channels of communication.  It's Max's thing, not Terry's, although he can understand why she's so careful.  She, of all people, knows how easy it is to hack a cell connection._

            "Sorry, Max.  But mom was pretty shaken up by what happened this afternoon."

            For a couple of seconds Max doesn't say anything.  "_She didn't get hurt or anything…?_"

            "No, just scared."  He'll have to do whatever he can to help her for the next few days, until she recovers.

            "_How about you?_"

            Terry resists his first impulse to say 'fine,' because he knows she won't believe him.  "I haven't been scared that badly since…"  He was going to say, 'since dad died,' but somehow he can't manage it.

            Max knows what he means, though.  "_I guess it hit way too close, huh?_"  Terry has rarely ever heard her speak in such a grave tone of voice.  He doesn't know what to say in return, and an uncomfortable silence is the result.

Naturally, Max is the one to break it.  "_You're still going?_" she asks tentatively.

            He knows what she's referring to.  "Yes," he answers.

"_I thought so," Max says.  "_You know the drill – call me when you're ready._"_

            "I will," Terry replies.  He's thankful that Max isn't talking too much about what happened earlier today.  They can discuss it later, but he doesn't feel up to handling it at the moment.

            They say goodbye to each other, and Terry hangs up, then puts his phone back in his pocket and continues down to the garage.  He revs up his bike and goes out on to the street, heading for Wayne Manor.  Even though it's ten-thirty at night, there are still a lot of cars out.  Gotham's traffic patterns don't make much of a distinction between AM and PM.

            _ When he gets within sight of the manor gateway he sees something that worries him.  There's a person standing outside the gates – Terry can't make him out from here – and a black shadow moving back and forth on the inside of the gateway.  That's Ace, and he's probably growling at the stranger.  As Terry gets closer he tries to figure out why the person is there.  Definitely not a burglar, or he wouldn't be waiting by the gate.  It can't be a courier because Terry does all the courier work for Mr. Wayne.  Maybe it's…_

            He almost skids off the road when he recognizes the visitor.  It's Superman, who he hasn't seen in person since his time with the JLU.  And he knows why he's here.  Terry wishes that the JLU had waited until Wayne's return, but it looks like he'll have to deal with this himself.

            Superman smiles at Terry as he slows his cycle and removes his helmet.  "Hello, Terry," he says.  "It's nice to see you again."  He's ignoring the frustrated growling and pacing of the canine inside the gate.

            "You too," Terry replies.  He tries to remind himself that he has no reason to be scared.  _Just do what Bruce told you, _he tells himself.  That helps him regain some of his equilibrium.  It then occurs to him that he should do something about Ace's growling, which is impolite at the very least.  "It's okay, boy," he says soothingly.  "He's all right."  Ace met Superman when he last visited the cave, but he wasn't around long enough for the dog to get to know him.  And it's hard to earn Ace's trust.

            Terry presents his eye to the retinal scanner, which confirms him as an authorized person and unlocks the gate.  He and Superman walk through, Terry pulling his motorcycle along by the handlebars.  Ace stalks along next to Terry, regarding Superman warily.

About half a minute of uncomfortable silence passes.

            "I think you know why I'm here," Superman says gravely.

For a second Terry feels like he's done something wrong – then he chides himself for thinking so.  "Yeah, I do.  It's about Kitsune, right?"

Superman nods.  "After we heard that you met her this afternoon, I decided that I ought to talk to you in person."

            Terry almost admits that he met her for the first time last night, not this afternoon, but he stops himself.  He doesn't want to tell Superman about that until they're in the Batcave, where he can have the home field advantage and more control over the situation.  _If you can have any control over it at all,_ says a nasty little voice in his head.  He pushes it away.  _Just keep your cool.  Try to do what Wayne would do._  Slag it, why is he kidding himself?  The only one who can do things like Wayne is Wayne.  Terry can't even come close.

            "What's your impression of her so far?" Superman asks.

            "What do you mean by that, exactly?" Terry asks as they reach the circle in front of the manor house.  He decides to leave his bike there, because he wants to get down to the cave as soon as possible.  So he engages the security lock and flips out the kickstand.  Then he heads for the front door.

            Superman seems to be giving Terry's request for clarification some serious thought.  "Let me put it another way.  As Batman, you follow a strict code of conduct – the same one that the League follows.   Our duty is to keep innocent people from being hurt."  He pauses as Terry opens the door.  The three of them enter the house and walk across the hall to the salon, where the hidden entrance into the Batcave is located.  "Most of the time, this means we have to deal with criminals.  Especially in your case."

            Terry doesn't know exactly how this relates to Kitsune, but he _does have some vague idea.  He looks at Superman attentively as he opens the front of the grandfather clock and pulls down the lever inside, causing the door to slide open._

            "I know I'm stating the obvious, but there's a point to it," Superman assures Terry.  Ace runs ahead as Terry and Superman start down the stairs.  "Our job, contrary to what many people think, is not to get rid of criminals.  Our job is to protect people, and if we forget that, we're not far from becoming criminals ourselves."

            They reach the bottom of the stairs.  Terry's already feeling more comfortable now that he's down here.  "I think I know where you're going with this," Terry says.

            Superman nods.  "That's what we're concerned about – that Kitsune and her friends may not follow the same code of conduct that we do.  Some of the other members are convinced that, sooner or later, one of these people is going to break the rules."

            "That I can understand," Terry says.  "What do _you think?"_

            "To be honest, I'm not sure," Superman admits.  "Most of the League members, however, consider them to be dangerous to public welfare.  The police in Philadelphia, Miami and Chicago consider them 'armed and dangerous,' which means that they won't hesitate to use deadly force.  Some government agencies, including the Pentagon, are thinking about taking action against them."

            Although Terry had no idea that things were that bad, he doesn't say so.  "I hope they'll change their minds," he remarks.

            Superman shakes his head.  "They'll see them as a threat until they've got good reason to do otherwise.  And if that doesn't happen soon…"  He trails off, leaving the rest up to Terry's imagination.

            Terry realizes, with a sinking feeling, that the fate of Natalie Milou's whole project might very well be in his hands.__


	26. Chapter Twenty Five: Choices

_Author's Note:  Sorry for the long wait, folks!  I've been working on an archaeological field study in the Aleutian Islands for the past couple of months.  I had a great time, but I wasn't able to work on my fanfics – boy, did that drive me crazy!  Anyway, I'm finally back and writing again, so here's a new chapter for you all.  I appreciate your comments and your support._

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

            There are times when Terry doesn't have to put on the suit to become Batman.  He's not sure exactly what sets off the change, but something about this situation does.  His nervousness drops away and his mind turns into a well-tuned calculating machine, weighing the options and putting together fragments of thought into neat solutions.

            "So you want me to prove to you that they aren't dangerous?" he asks.

            "I don't know if you can _prove_ it," Superman says.  "But anything you know would help.  Although it may not be much."

            Terry thinks for a moment about what he's going to say.  "Actually, I know who they're working for."

            The momentary shock on Superman's face makes Terry feel a little guilty, but surprisingly satisfied.  "When did you find this out?"

            "Last night, when I spoke to her." Terry says.

            Superman frowns at him.  "You should have told us," he says, in almost the same tone that Wayne uses when Terry has screwed up.

            He is expecting Terry to be chagrined and offer him an apology.  Terry McGinnis would have done exactly that, but Batman won't.  He doesn't take that kind of treatment from anyone except Wayne.  "She asked me not to," he says, without mentioning that Wayne told him to keep it to himself as well.  "After what happened the last time she tried to talk to the Justice League, I don't blame her."

            Much to Terry's disappointment, Superman is not surprised.  "If she told us about what she was doing, well, she isn't the first.  I've lost count of the number of messages we've gotten from people who want to start up an organization like the League."

            _That's why they didn't tell us about Natalie's message when this all started,_ Terry thinks to himself.  "That's why you said no to her?"

            "We have to.  People thought Batman was a dangerous psychotic when he first appeared.  They turned out to be wrong, but Bruce was an exception to the rule.  You too," he adds.  "Most vigilantes are clumsy enough to get caught by the police or make a fatal mistake before they cause any serious damage.  A few are better than that, but they tend to think that the ends justify the means."

            "Okay, I get it," Terry says.  He's glad he didn't actually accuse Superman of withholding information from him, now that he knows the League had a perfectly good reason for not telling him about Natalie's message.  And he understands their reasons for caution.  "These guys are different, though."

            Superman nods.  "Obviously.  They're very well trained, they have the funding for sophisticated equipment, and they're spread out across the country but presumably working for the same organization.  That's part of why the League, among others, is worried about them."

            "That's not what I meant," Terry protests.  "They're not psychos.  They haven't killed anyone.  Or _let_ anyone get killed."  For a second Terry thinks of Tanya Wooten and feels guilty, even though he knows in an abstract way that her death wasn't his fault.

            "We're still not sure if that's true," Superman reminds him, "And there's a lot of people who don't want to take the chance that it isn't."

            Terry thinks hard for a few seconds.  He's the only one who can resolve this, and he has to be very careful about how he does it.  Finally he comes up with a solution.  "I can't tell you who's in charge," he says, "But I can contact them.  They'll probably be glad to talk to you, if you'll agree."

            Superman seems satisfied with that.  "I do.  By their rules, if I have to."  Of course, Superman can afford to play by almost anyone's rules, if he wants to.  Terry's just hoping that _he's_ playing the right way.

~***~

            The McGinnis family spends the next day trying to recover from the near-disaster of the previous evening.  Terry takes responsibility for all the household chores and the care of his little brother.  Fortunately, Matt comprehends the gravity of the situation and behaves with more maturity and politeness than Terry thought he was capable of.  The phone is ringing off the hook with calls from concerned friends.  Mary McGinnis also gets a call from the Rawlings Bank & Securities, informing her that she will be on paid leave until her place of employment is up and running again.  That does a lot to put her mind at ease, and Terry's as well.

            Terry is as nervous as his mother, though for different reasons.  He knows that she wants to talk to him about last night, even if she really can't find anything to say.  But they can't talk about it in front of Matt.  High-strung as he is, Terry is beginning to think that perhaps Matt knows more about Terry's part-time job than he lets on.  Such a possibility never occurred to him before, but then again, it never occurred to him to think that his mother knew the truth until a few days ago, either.  He's also worried about how things are going between Natalie and the JLU, and he intends to check up on that at the earliest possible opportunity.

            There's also the possibility that his mother will insist that he quit being Batman for good.  She was already ambivalent about it, and actually seeing him in danger might push her attitude from 'ambivalent' to 'negative.'  He keeps telling himself that that particular concern is the result of simple paranoia, but it seems more and more threatening by the minute.  All the potential crises hanging over his head make the time move like molasses and feel like the sound of a fingernail scraping down a chalkboard.

            At some point in the early afternoon, the phone rings for about the thousandth time that day.  Terry's busy cleaning up after lunch, so Matt answers the phone first, giving him a reprieve.  He doesn't give the phone any more thought until his little brother comes into the kitchen with the cordless receiver and offers it to him.

            "It's Mr. Wayne," he says noncommittally.

            Terry's almost overjoyed at this news, but he doesn't show it.  "Thanks," he says as he turns off the faucet and dries his hands on the towel by the sink.  He takes the receiver and lifts it to his ear as Matt leaves the room.  "What's up?" he says.

            "_Terry, I just heard the news about Mad Stan.  Is everything all right?_"  He knows Wayne well enough to catch the note of concern in his voice.

Terry desperately wants to tell him about the whole Natalie/JLU situation, but he knows that subject is off-limits right now.  "Mom's fine," he replies.  "A few people were injured - and, of course, the lobby of the Rawlings Building is a total mess - but that's it."  He's trying to figure out how he can tell Wayne that he has to call him back later tonight, without saying anything that might sound suspicious to someone who overhears the conversation.

"_I'm glad to hear that.  Tell her I send my best wishes."  Terry can tell that he means it._

"Thanks, I will," he says.

"_How's Ace doing?"_

"Except for being bored, he's fine."

"_There's something else.  I'll probably be returning tomorrow afternoon as I planned, but my schedule might change.  I should know for certain by tonight.  I'll call you then to confirm one way or the other."_

Terry grins.  He knows perfectly well that Wayne is not going to talk with him about travel plans.  "Yes sir," he says.

"_Good," Wayne says.  "__Thanks for keeping everything in order while I'm over here."  That is, of course, a remark about Batman – and rare praise, coming from Wayne.  "_I'll talk to you later._"_

"Okay.  Bye," Terry concludes the conversation.  Just a second after he presses the TALK button to end the call, the phone rings again.  He was about to put it down and get back to washing the dishes, so he finds this particularly frustrating.  He tries to keep that feeling out of his voice when he answers the phone with a "Hello?"

"_Terry?  It's Dana."_

Terry almost drops the phone.  "Dana!  Hi.  It's…been a while since I've heard from you."  Oops.  _That was really slick, with the false-sounding cheerful tone and all.  But what else could he have said?_

"_I know," she says, choosing not to dwell on the faux pas.  "__You've got a lot on your mind.  I just wanted to know how you were doing…I mean, this must be hard on you, with what happened…"  She trails off.  At this point Terry thinks that it might have been easier on both of them if they had had a violent, messy breakup instead of a relatively peaceful and civilized one.  With a nasty breakup you know where you stand – you and the other person just hate each other's guts and avoid interacting with each other as much as possible from then on.  But when it's a quiet breakup, you can't hate the other person and you can't love them either, so you have no idea where you stand.  That's the problem he and Dana are having now._

"We're doing all right.  Nobody got hurt," he says quietly.

"_I know, but I don't think I could handle it if something like that happened to me and…after what happened to your dad…" She makes a distressed noise.  "__God, Terry, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to bring that up, it's just that I didn't know what to say."_

"It's okay," Terry reassures her.  "I know what you mean.  Thanks."

"_I'm glad you understand," she tells him.  "__And to hear that you're all right.  I was worried.  We may not be together anymore but…I still care about you."_

For a second, Terry thinks that there may be a good chance of patching up their relationship after all.  Dana's obviously having second thoughts – or at least that's how it seems to him.

But he realizes that they can't get back together.  He used to think that he could somehow be Batman and still keep Dana.  A year later and with a ton of evidence to the contrary, he realizes that he can no longer lie to himself and keep believing it.  Terry has to choose one or the other – something that Wayne never told him, because he knew Terry had to learn it on his own.

Terry's already made his choice.

"Thanks," he says again.  "That means a lot to me."

There is an awkward but mercifully short silence.

"_Please tell your mom I said hello, and I'm glad she's okay,_" Dana says.

"I will, thanks."

"_Bye._"

"Bye, Dana."  There's a click from the receiver as Dana hangs up.  Terry presses the TALK button to close the line, unable to decide whether he's saddened or relieved that the conversation is over.  He can't blame Dana for calling him with her condolences.  If their positions had been reversed, he would have done the same thing.  But talking to her just…just…

He made the right decision by deciding to let Dana go.  Didn't he?

Terry puts the receiver on the counter, sighs deeply, and puts his head in his hands.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six: Conversations

            Tama's in her living room reading a paperback novel when the door chime rings.  She looks at the door and frowns – she was right in the middle of an exciting part! – then sighs, puts a bookmark on the page she was reading and places the book on the table.  "Coming!" she calls as she gets up from the floor cushion (all her furniture is in traditional Japanese style, which means no chairs) and walks over to the door.  Tama puts her hand on the panel.  It flashes green and the door slides open.

            Melanie's standing on the other side of the doorway, holding her purse in her hands.  She looks like a lost puppy – actually, Tama realizes, she's looked like that for the past couple of days.  "Mel!  Come in!" she says, standing back to let her guest through the door.  "Do you want some tea or something?"

            "That'd be nice, thanks," Melanie says in a subdued tone of voice.  Tama rushes to the kitchen to start the water boiling as Melanie goes to sit on one of the cushions by the table.  Tama joins her a few moments later.

            It is evident from the look on Melanie's face that something is very wrong.  Tama knows her well enough to understand that she's come here to talk about it, but won't actually be able to say what it is that's bothering her until Tama manages to draw it out.  She's weird that way.  "So," Tama asks, "What brings you here?"

            "I heard that Natalie talked to the JLU last night," Melanie says.  "But I don't know what happened.  I was wondering if you did."

            That probably isn't all Melanie wants to talk about, but Tama can't just ask her outright.  She needs to ease into it.  "Alex told me it went well.  I guess the JLU doesn't hate us anymore."  Tama grins.  "He also told me that Natalie is trying to find a name for us now that we're legit."

            "Hm."  Melanie traces abstract designs on the varnished top of the black table with a fingertip.  "I'm not sure that's up to the JLU," she points out.

            "Sure it is," Tama insists.  "Until now they had a monopoly on…on whatever it is they are.  You know."  She shrugs.  "I guess it pays to have a friend on the inside."

            "You mean Batman," Melanie says quietly.  Tama senses that they are getting closer to The Big Issue.  Her suspicions are confirmed when Melanie says, "That's the other thing I wanted to talk about.  Sort of."

            She doesn't say anything after that, so Tama has to prompt her.  "Go on."

            Melanie bites her lower lip, then looks up at Tama like she's trying hard to muster her courage.  "I was wondering, after I'm done with my training…I know I'm supposed to stay here while you go to New York, but can I go there instead?"

            Ouch.  That's a sticky issue.  "I hate to say this, Mel," Tama says gently, "But you're still on parole for the next five years.  And you'll be done with your training really soon."

            "Maybe I can apply for permission to move to New York or something."

            Tama shakes her head.  "I'm not an expert on these things, but I don't think so.  And even if you _can_ do it, I'm not the one who'll decide where you're going to work.  Nat will."

            Melanie sighs and drags a hand down her face.  "I don't know if she'll like my reasons.  I was thinking that you could tell me whether they made sense or not before I go and ask her."

            "So you're making me your trial run?" Tama asks.  The kettle starts whistling from the kitchen, and she excuses herself briefly.  After pouring the water into the teapot, she brings it and some cups in on a tray, which she puts down on the table.  "Let it steep for five minutes," she says.  "I forgot, what were we talking about again?"

            "You were going to be the trial run for my explanation of why I don't want to stay in Gotham," Melanie answers.

            "Okay, shoot," Tama says.

            "First, you have to understand that you can't repeat _any of this.  Not to Alex or even to Nat," Melanie tells her.  Tama nods solemnly.  "Okay.  I…I don't think I can stay in the same city with Batman.  Not if I'm going to be in the same line of work."_

            "Is that because you used to be on different sides?" Tama asks.

            "That's one reason," Melanie says.  "But it's more complicated than that.  I met him before we found out we were on different sides.  I didn't know he was Batman, and he didn't know I was Ten."

            Tama listens in rapt fascination.  This sounds like it's going to be interesting.

            "It didn't take him long to find out about me and my family.  It was a while before I figured _him out, though."  She sighs.  "Now we both know.  And even if I have my costume on, he'll still know who I am.  Or at least he'll be able to figure it out pretty quickly."_

            "So he knows who you are.  Well, since you know who _he_ is, you're even.  I guess it would be uncomfortable, but…"

            "No, you don't understand!" Melanie interrupts with sudden violence.  Tama falls into shocked silence.  Melanie takes a deep breath.  "Before he found out who I was, and even after…"  She raises a hand and makes a vague gesture.  "We were in a relationship."

            "A serious relationship?" Tama asks quietly.

            "_Very serious," Melanie admits._

            "Oh," Tama says meekly as the implications become clear to her.

            Melanie nods sadly.  "It was weird enough talking to him when we were just ourselves.  But with him as Batman and me…"  She trails off.  "I can't _do this.  I thought I'd be able to, but I just _can't_."  Tama sees the glitter of tears forming in her eyes._

            "It sounds like a good reason to me," Tama comments softly, "But I don't think it's gonna fly with Nat."

            Melanie makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob.  "You're right, it won't.  But what the hell am I gonna _do?"_

            Tama doesn't have an answer for her.  She pours Melanie a cup of green tea and hands it to her.  Melanie takes the steaming cup in her hands and clutches it as if her life depends on it before taking a sip.  It seems to calm her down a little.

            "I don't know.  Maybe Natalie will let you move after all," Tama says, trying to reassure her friend as she pours herself some tea.  "Me, I don't mind staying in Gotham.  But if you can't switch places with me, I don't know what you can do.  Just try and deal with it, I guess."

            Melanie doesn't say anything.  She puts her cup of tea down on the tray, but not as gently as she should – some of the contents spill out.  Tama carefully puts her own cup down and puts an arm around Melanie's shoulders.  "It'll be okay," she says, although she doesn't know how this can possibly turn out well.

            The tears in Melanie's eyes finally spill over, and she buries her face in Tama's shoulder and starts to sob.

~***~

            "…so she met with Superman last night.  I still don't know how it's going," Terry concludes.  Then he leans back in the chair – usually Wayne's chair, but he's sitting in it now – and looks up at his boss's face on the big computer screen before him.  He links his hands behind his head and shrugs.

            The casual act is just that – an act.  He's really worried that he screwed up somehow.  At least now he'll know for sure; Wayne will either say he did the right thing in his situation, or chew him out for doing something stupid and tell him what, if anything, he can do to fix it.

            Wayne contemplates this for a few moments.  Terry's anxiety makes it seem like a lot longer.  "_Well, you did the best you could, but it's out of your hands now,_" he says.  Terry is relieved to hear that Wayne approves of his actions.  "_If Superman likes Natalie and her people, he'll be able to get the League on their side – it'll be a good start."_

            "_If he likes them," Terry points out.  "Could you, I don't know, put in a good word for them or something?"_

            Wayne smiles.  "_I'll try.  They seem like they know what they're doing.  And since Kitsune helped you yesterday, I suppose they've earned it._"

            Terry sits up straight, then leans forward with his forearms on his knees.  "I guess so.  But I'm a little worried: I've only met four of the people who work there, one of them just over the phone, and I guess I don't _really _know Kitsune."

            "_And one of them is a former criminal you put in jail," Wayne points out, his tone saying that he knows just how much this remark will annoy Terry._

            "Yeah.  There's that," Terry admits.  He's glad his boss doesn't know the whole story.  "I think I can trust them, but I'm not sure if they trust _me._"

            "_It'll take a while," Wayne assures him.  "__But I think we have a lot of reasons to be optimistic about this."_

            "You?  Be optimistic?" Terry, jibes, seeing an opportunity to repay Wayne for bringing up Melanie.  "I never thought I'd see the day!"

            Wayne half-smiles at him.  "_There's a first time for everything, Terry.  I have to sign off now, but I'll see you tomorrow at two-thirty."_

            "I'll be there," Terry assures him.  "It'll be good to have you back.  These last few days have been crazy.  Oh, and Max has been putting together a database on these people that she wants you to see."

            Wayne sighs.  Terry knows perfectly well his boss's opinion on Max's involvement in Batman's affairs, but he's still trying to get Wayne to see her merits.  "_Tell her to send it to me," he says, with a tone of resignation tinged with amusement.  "_Just to humor her._"_

            Terry smiles and nods.  "Okay.  I'll see you tomorrow."

            "_Have a good night," Wayne says.  Of course he doesn't mean this the way other people do when they say it."_

            Waving with one hand and pressing a button with the other, Terry ends the call and the screen goes blank.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven: Arrival

            Terry and Ace are sitting patiently at Gate A30, which is used exclusively for charter flights and private jets.  The plane is a little late, so they've been waiting half an hour when it should have been only ten minutes.  Finally, though, a gate attendant opens the door to the boarding ramp.  Several seconds later a small knot of lawyers and secretaries emerges, followed by Wayne himself.  Terry waves to him as Ace emits an enthusiastic bark and heads for his master, dragging Terry after him by the leash.  He nudges his way through Wayne's entourage – Terry excuses both of them along the way – until he's within arm's reach of the old man, who smiles and pats him on the head.

"It's good to see you too, boy," he says.  Them he looks up at Terry.  "How'd you get them to let him in without a crate?"

"Oh, I just used my natural charm," Terry replies with a smile.

Wayne actually chuckles at that.  He gives a brief set of instructions to his attendants, then dismisses them.  They each take their leave politely, melt into the mass of people walking up and down the concourse and disappear.  Terry, Wayne and Ace take the same route, but more slowly.

"So, how was your trip home?" Terry asks.

"Long," Wayne says simply.  "And frustrating, like most of the things I've been doing for the past few days."

"Oh, speaking of frustrating, a bunch of reporters came to talk to you," Terry says.  "They wouldn't let them through security, though, so they're hanging around until you come by."

"Great," Wayne says with an irritated grimace.  "Just what I was looking forward to."

"Don't worry, I figured out a way around them," Terry says.  "We can go out a back door."  At this he turns left and heads for an out-of-the-way alcove lined with vending machines.  At the back of it is an unassuming door with a sign that reads 'Employees Only.'  Terry looks around to make sure nobody's watching – no one is – and extends a hand and knocks on it in a prearranged sequence.

After a couple of seconds there's a _click_ as the door unlocks.  It opens onto a dingy service corridor.

"I'm impressed," Wanye says.  "Just how did you arrange _this…_"

He falls into stunned silence as the answer steps out from behind the door.

Max is dressed in the uniform of a female gate attendant, with a blue skirt and jacket and her pink hair mostly hidden under a cap.  "Hi," she says cheerfully.

Terry tries to look as innocent as possible while he treasures the rare expression of surprise on his boss's face. 

"My dad works here," Max informs Wayne as his expression shifts into a more common glower.  Terry's attempt to look innocent does not save him from one of the old man's Looks.  Ace whimpers nervously and flicks his tongue over his nose.  Max grimaces a little.

Finally, Wayne sighs as if resigned to his current situation.  "Thank you," he says, albeit grudgingly.  She grins brightly at him, pushes the door open a little further and gestures for them to enter.  Once her charges have gone though, she follows them and lets the door close behind her.  Then she shuffles quickly into the leading position and starts walking down the corridor.  They make their way through the twisting maze of bland white tile, harsh fluorescent lights and metal doors.  Occasionally they pass an airport employee going from one place to another: Max exchanges greetings with them, and if the question comes up she explains who her companions are and why they're here.  Her willingness to share this information seems to irritate Wayne a great deal, but he doesn't chastise her for it.  Everyone they meet seems to agree with Max's strategy anyway – a few even commend her for coming up with it.

Finally they reach an employee entrance, which is occupied by a security guard sitting at a desk.  He greets them cheerfully and points to two suitcases waiting in a corner behind them.  Terry recognizes them as Wayne's – Max got someone to bring them here.  After handing Ace's leash to Wayne, Terry picks up the suitcases.  The security guard wishes them well as they go through the door and emerge blinking into the sunlight.

"Well, that's it," Max informs them.  "You better get out of here before the press catches on."

"Thanks again," Terry says.  Wayne shows her a modicum of politeness and respect though a nod.

Max knows better than to expect a real thank-you from Wayne, since what she just did counts as unwelcome meddling, at least as far as he's concerned.  She waves politely and goes back into the building, closing the door behind her.  Terry, Ace and Wayne are left alone on the sheltered sidewalk at the far end of the terminal.

Wayne turns to Terry with a frown.  "Was that _your_ idea?" Wayne asks in a quiet, slightly ominous voice.

"Nope.  It was all Max," he says truthfully.  He may get in trouble for this, but not anything serious enough to worry him.  "But hey, she got you past the reporters, right?"

Wayne is not going to admit that he's grateful for her favor.  "Where did you park?" he asks as if the past fifteen minutes never happened.

"Right over there," Terry says, pointing in the direction of the car.  Wayne nods and starts walking in that direction with Ace in tow.  Terry follows them.  "So, when are you going to tell me about Natalie?  You promised you would once you got back."  He might be able to improve Wayne's mood by bringing up this subject.

It works.  Wayne looks over his shoulder at Terry, a half-smile on his face.  "I'll tell you on the drive home," he says.

_Author's note:  I know this chapter is shorter than usual, but don't worry – I'll have the whole Natalie story up soon._


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight: Reminiscence

            Wayne begins his story when Terry pulls out of the airport parking lot and on to the road.  "I saw Natalie at the office a few times – her father was one of my top researchers, and he'd sometimes bring her to work with him.  She was…"  He looks up at the ceiling as he searches for the right word.  "…very _precocious_."  On his face is the smile of one who is remembering something that seems amusing now, but was not at all funny when it actually happened years ago.  Terry decides not to ask about it.

            "I kind of figured," he comments instead.

            Wayne nods.  "I also saw her the first time I used the new suit…"

~***~

            **_November 15, 2022_**

            Batman could see his breath mist in the air when he exhaled, but he didn't feel the cold at all.  The suit, only a few centimeters thick, kept the chill from him like a fur coat.  It would also protect him from bullets, fire, various corrosive chemicals and a number of other physical hazards – at least in theory.  He hadn't field-tested it for all those things yet.

            The sun had just finished sinking below the western horizon.  Usually he didn't go out until after it had been down for at least an hour, but this was an emergency.  A man with a semi-automatic pistol had attempted to rob a jewellery store, but hadn't moved fast enough and ended up trapped inside when the police came on the scene.  The would-be thief was holding the store's staff and a few customers as hostages while ten police units waited nervously outside.

            He crouched on the roof of the building across the street from the jeweler's shop and considered his options.  Going in through the front door was not an option – it almost never was.  Going in through the roof was probably a bad idea, too – it was an old one-story building, no skylights, so there would be no margin of safety between dropping in and being seen by the thug with the gun.  There was an alley behind the building, though, which meant he had a good chance of finding a back door.

            Batman straightened up – his muscles were sore from keeping his knees bent for so long, though they would have borne the strain easily a few years ago – and began to move, heading for an adjacent building.  It would have been quicker to fly over the street, but he didn't want to risk being spotted by the police below.  They might tip off his target by mistake.  He easily made the leap to the next roof, even though it was three meters away and one floor higher than the one had started on.

            After jumping a few more roofs he turned, unfolded his wings and activated the boot jets, which launched him up over the street.  After a couple of seconds he cut them and glided to a neat landing in the back alley.  With barely a pause to fold his wings again he set off towards the back of the jewellery store, moving on swift and silent feet.  An alley cat, startled by his approach, jumped out of an open dumpster and darted into a heap of boxes, from which it regarded him with wary yellow eyes.

            There was, as he had hoped, a rear entrance in the plain concrete wall of the jewellery store.  The proprietor, like many businessmen these days, had replaced the old key-lock with an electronic keypad.  Batman would be able to test the suit's lock-picking apparatus on that, but first he would have to find out what exactly was beyond the door.  There was a barred window set in the wall to his right.  He looked through that, using the suit's visual equipment to see into the darkened room beyond.

            It was a combination office and storeroom – to the left there were a number of labeled drawers lining the wall, and a few empty display cases clumped together in the middle of the floor.  To the right were some file cabinets, a large wastebasket, and a wooden desk with a computer and telephone sitting on top.

            And, according to the thermal sensors in his cowl, there was a living thing hiding _under_ the desk.  He wondered if it was a dog or cat – hard to tell with only the thermal imaging – but when it shifted position he realized that it was human.  Human, and too small to be an adult.

            Batman stepped back from the window and returned to the door.  He examined the keypad and found the small port above the LED display.  Now he could try out the lock-pick.  He extended his index finger, which sprouted a two-pronged metal instrument that he inserted into the keypad port.  The LED display flickered with numbers that appeared and disappeared to quickly to be seen.  After a few seconds it displayed the word 'ACCEPTED' in block letters.  He removed his finger and retracted the lock-pick as he reached for the doorknob with his other hand, twisted it and pulled.  The door opened with a slight creak.  He stepped in and closed it quietly behind him.

            The child under the desk had probably heard him come in, but it made no noise.  That was a relief – he'd been afraid that it would start crying or screaming and cause all hell to break loose.  He would have to attend to it before he did anything else.  "You don't have to hide," he said, trying to sound gentle but not doing very well.  "I'm here to help."

            There was no response.  The kid was probably too terrified to say anything.

            Batman wasn't sure what to do next; he wasn't very good with kids.  He walked around to the back of the desk – it was one of those big ones with a panel on the front - making a little noise as he did so.  That would, he hoped, keep the child from thinking that he was trying to sneak up on it.  Once he got around to the back, he gently moved the rolling office chair out of the way and crouched down so he would be on a level with the kid.

            With the light amplifiers in his cowl, he was able to see her very clearly.  He recognized her she was Natalie, Gerard Milou's daughter.  She'd visited her father's workplace a few times.  Natalie was wearing a thick red winter coat over a blue sweater and black corduroy trousers.  Her hair was hidden under a wool cap that matched her coat.  Although she looked scared, she didn't appear to be crying.

            She looked at his face, then the red bat on his chest.  "Are you Batman?" she whispered, sounding more fascinated than frightened.

            "Yes," he said.

            "Oh.  You look different," she observed.

            "You're not hurt, are you?" he asked.

            Natalie shook her head.  "Uh-uh."  She blinked at him.  "Are you going to catch the robber?"

            "Yes, and until I've caught him, I want you to stay right where you are."  He didn't think it would be a good idea to have her leave and end up alone in the alley.  She was safer under the desk, for the time being.

            "Okay," she agreed.  She seemed to be calmer now.  Satisfied, Batman stood up and went to the door that opened into the front of the jewellery shop.  He put his finger mike against it so he could hear what was going on outside and used various imaging methods – x-ray, thermal and the like – to get some idea of what the layout was like.  That way he would know what he was getting into.

            The counter was about a meter and a half from the shop's rear wall, positioned between him and the gunman.  The latter was standing in the middle of the shop and holding his weapon on a group of seated people lined up against the display cases to the right.  Batman would have to burst through the door, leap over the counter and tackle the gunman before he could fire on any of the hostages.

            He heard a noise and turned his head to see Natalie peeking at him from her hiding place – she probably couldn't see him very well in the dark, but she was curious.  When she realized she'd been spotted she darted back in.  Batman looked around the storeroom to see if there was something, anything, he could use to his advantage.  His examinations revealed a fusebox on the wall.  _That_ might be helpful.

            Batman went to the fusebox and opened the cover to check out the circuit breakers inside.  They were, thankfully, identified with little labels.  One of them read 'front room.'  He had an idea.  A timed explosive on the fusebox would…no, there were problems with that.  If he just blew out the box, the lights in the shop might explode and someone would get hurt.  He had some electromagnetic charges, but at this close range they'd knock out his suit, too.  He reminded himself that he'd have to make a miniature EMP device for situations like this.  For the time being, he would need help.  And there was only one person there who could help him.

            He turned back to look at the desk.  Natalie was peeking out at him again, but she concealed herself as she had done last time.  "I have an idea," he informed her.  "But I'll need you to help me."

            She slowly poked her head out from under the desk and looked at him.  "So you don't want me to stay here anymore?" she asked, sounding almost hopeful.

            "No.  Come here, and bring the chair."  The girl quickly scrambled out from under the desk and pulled the office chair over to him.  Batman looked over at the door.  The hinges weren't on his side of the door, so it obviously opened outwards.  "Does that door make any noise when it's opened?" he asked.  She'd definitely used it to get back here – he hoped she remembered one way or the other.

            "Nope," she answered.  Good, that would make things a little easier.

            "All right," he said, stepping backwards and positioning the chair under the fusebox.  "This is very important.  When I give the signal, I want you to flip _this_ switch," he instructed her, pointing to the circuit breaker marked 'front room.'

            Natalie nodded and climbed up onto the chair.  Then she stood up in the seat so that her eyes were level with the fusebox.  She put her finger on the switch.  "I'm ready," she told him.

            Batman went to the door and slowly turned the knob.  He eased it outward just a little, so that it would swing all the way open with a slight push.  Now that the door was ajar, he could hear a woman sobbing outside.  The gunman was too intent on his hostages to notice.  Batman moved backward and took up a position about a meter from the door.  He engaged the thermal imaging in his cowl so he would have a clear view of his target.

              He looked at Natalie, who had her finger on the switch.  She was watching him intently.  Batman turned back into the door and made a chopping motion with his right hand.  Then a number of things happened at once.

            There was a _click_ as the circuit breaker engaged, and a roar as Batman leaped forward and activated his boot jets.  He shot through the door, skimmed over the counter and smashed right into the confused gunman just as he was turning to look for the source of the noise.  His gun fell out of his limp hand as Batman pinned him against the wall by the front door.

            He ignored the exclamations from the hostages as he jerked the dazed robber around so he could slap a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.  "Come on," he said to the man.  "There's a jail cell with your name on it."  Taking a firm grip on the ex-gunman's shoulder, he steered the man towards the rear door.  If he went out by the front, the police might get confused and start shooting.  In the shadows he could see the former hostages staring at him in amazement.

            When Natalie saw him reenter the storage room she gathered that the whole mess was over and disengaged the circuit breaker.  She clambered down from the chair and ran over to Batman, then looked up at him.  "Thanks," she said.  She frowned at the ex-gunman and gave him a vicious kick in the shin before running into the front of the shop.  He yelped and staggered, but Batman managed to keep him upright.  Behind him, Batman heard Natalie call "Mama!"

            After he had dragged his prisoner into the back alley, he took a firm grip on his arms, spread his wings and activated his boot jets.  The man whimpered in terror, a sound that Batman found extremely satisfying, as he was flown over the roof of the building.  Batman swooped down and dropped his catch on the pavement in front of the shop as a present for the police, then shot upwards again and disappeared into the night sky.

~***~

            Wayne ends the narrative just as they arrive at the manor and pull into the garage.  "At the time I wasn't sure if I should have gotten her to flip the switch," he says, "But it turned out all right."

            "Wow," Terry says as he turns the ignition off.  The engine falls quiet and he turns to look at Wayne in the passenger seat next to him.  "So she got to be Batgirl for a little while?"

            Wayne smiles as he unbuckles his seatbelt.  "I guess you could say that."

            Terry takes off his seatbelt, gets out of the car and runs around to the other side to let Wayne and Ace out.  The dog jumps out of the backseat, but his master gets out more slowly.  "I want to see all the information you have on Natalie," Wayne tells Terry.  "I know what she was like twenty years ago, but I'd like some more up-to-date information."

            "Yes sir," Terry says as he goes to open the door into the house. 

_Author's Note:  I had to change something Bruce Wayne said in Chapter 18 to make it fit with this flashback.  He originally said that he saved Natalie's life, but I eventually ditched that scenario in favor of this one – hence, I changed his earlier reference to it accordingly._


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine: Detour

            Melanie walks out of Les Trois Pommes and one of the dullest experiences of her life.  She holds the door open so that Natalie, accompanied by Lucius Fox II and his own personal assistant, can step through.  Natalie has spent the past three hours discussing the details of a proposed contract between VibranTech and Foxteca.  The business dinner turned out to be a big success for both parties – although it was a big heap of boring for Melanie, and probably for Mr. Fox's secretary as well.  Or maybe it wasn't that boring for _him,_ because he kept ogling Melanie when he thought she wasn't looking.

            Natalie passes her a claim ticket for the car.  Fox follows suit with his secretary.  They both give their tickets to the fancily uniformed man at the valet desk, who sends a similarly uniformed teenager to retrieve their vehicles.  The two company presidents continue to chatter while Melanie looks up at the skyscrapers and shivers with the chill.  It's an unusually cold night for this time of year, and her pale blue evening dress doesn't provide much protection against the elements.

            After a short eternity Mr. Fox's Acura LX materializes at the curb.  The young valet gets out and Fox's pudgy, bespectacled assistant gives him a tip.  With a few muttered words the valet thanks him and goes off to get Natalie's car.  He opens the rear door for his boss, who says goodbye to Natalie before folding his lanky body into the backseat.  His assistant closes the door, nods farewell, and gets into the driver's seat.

            Natalie watches as the car leaves the parking lot, threads through a series of causeway roads and walks as it ascends into the air and picks up speed before flying off.  "That went well," she says pleasantly.  She looks at Melanie.  "You look like you're dying of boredom."

            She knows she can't get away with anything but the truth, so she just rolls her eyes as if to say, "was it ­_that_ obvious?"

            "You'd better learn to get used to it," Natalie says with a smile.  "It won't be the last time.  I hope the food was some compensation."

            "The lobster was good," Melanie says.  "But the snails?…"  She shakes her head.

            "You don't know what you're missing.  They're delicious."

            "I'll take your word for it."  Melanie wonders if this would be a good time to bring up her request to move to New York.  She's decided to ask, in spite of Tama's advice to the contrary.  It's just that she hasn't worked up the courage to do it yet.

            A police siren wails in the distance and quickly increases in volume and pitch as it comes closer.  Both Melanie and Natalie look turn to look at the street as a GCPD car speeds by.  For two seconds its blaring siren is almost unbearably loud – then, as it heads into the distance, the noise dwindles away until it is swallowed up by the white-noise background of Gotham at night.  Melanie has always been sort of scared of police sirens, although her fear is not so great now that she's out of what her parents called 'the game.'

            "I wonder what's taking him so long," Natalie grumbles to herself.

            "You mean the valet?"  Melanie shrugs.  "Maybe he's having trouble finding the car or something."

            Before they can get too agitated, though, Natalie's red Lexus turns the corner out of the parking lot and pulls up to the curb.  The valet gets out and puts the keys in Melanie's outstretched hand.  She notices that he looks a little frazzled.  "Sorry," he says.  "Took me a while to find the car."

            "That's okay," Melanie says.  She reaches into her purse and tips him a few credits.  The young valet smiles at her – a rather nervous smile - thanks her and goes to serve a couple just emerging from the restaurant.  Melanie opens the front passenger door for Natalie, who pulls her embroidered silk jacket close so she won't get it caught in the door when she closes it.  Once she's settled, Melanie gets in the driver's seat and they both buckle their seatbelts.  She engages the antigrav and the car rises into the air.  Once the indicator on the dashboard says she's at the proper height, she stops the ascent and starts heading for home.  She looks at the 'ghost buoys' displayed in the windshield, holographic projections that mark the legal route for hovercars.  There are green ones lining the sides of the route and red ones along the top and bottom, creating a sort of diamond-shaped tunnel for her to fly through.

            "So, Melanie," Natalie begins, "I think you'll be ready for your suit in a couple of weeks."

            Melanie bites her lower lip as she thinks about the implications of this.  It means that she will soon be taking Tama's place here, which is exactly what she doesn't want.  She decides that she had better tell Natalie about her decision now, because otherwise it will be too late.  She takes a breath and prepares to drop the proverbial bombshell.

            Then something weird happens.  A light on the dashboard turns on, a little yellow square that reads 'CHECK GUIDANCE SYSTEM.'  Melanie frowns at it – the car was tuned a month ago, so it should be fine.  It's probably just a glitch.  She gets ready to take a right at the intersection ahead, and activates the turn signal.  Nothing happens.

            "What's going on?" Natalie asks, sounding slightly alarmed.  Melanie tries to slow down and turn right, but the controls don't respond.  It keeps going straight, and they pass the turn.

            "I don't know," Melanie answers as she jerks the wheel and pushes the pedals.  The car, it seems, has developed a mind of its own.  She hits the emergency button, which should bring it into a slow descent to the nearest safe landing spot.  Nothing.  She hits it again.  Still nothing.  She starts pounding on the button as real panic begins to set in.

            There is a hissing noise as a jet of white vapor starts shooting out from under the dashboard.  The air begins to thicken and take on a strange, chemical smell.

            "Sabotage!" Natalie concludes as she puts her left arm over her nose and mouth and tries to open her door with the other hand.  It won't budge – like everything else in the car, it is now out of their control.

            Melanie tries her door, then undoes her seatbelt and leans into the rear passenger seats to try the rear doors.  The endeavor is more difficult than it should be.  Her head starts spinning and her vision begins to go dark around the edges.  She pulls herself back into her seat and covers her mouth, but it doesn't even serve to delay the effects of the gas.

            For a moment her senses are severely distorted; then they shut down entirely.


	31. Chapter Thirty: Surprise

            Terry drags the last of the Jokerz out of the electronics store they were trying to rob and tosses him on top of his comrades, who are already piled up on the sidewalk.  "Told you the hard way wasn't fun," Terry reminds him.  Although there's probably no point in saying it – even if the guy _is_ still conscious, he's probably too groggy to understand the words.

            A police siren distinguishes itself from the ambient city noise in the distance.  It seems to be coming closer.  Terry decides that it's time for him to leave.  He spreads his wings and activates his boot jets, turning them off once he's far enough above the roofs of the surrounding buildings.  Then he changes course and glides towards the Batmobile, which is currently sitting – camouflaged, of course – in an abandoned lot.

            He's in a good mood.  The night is going well so far.  Wayne's watching his back again, he's worked out the whole Batman issue with his mom, and the latest news reports say that the authorities are giving Natalie's people a little breathing room.  Although he couldn't say all is right with the world – after all, the world is not the same as it was a couple of weeks ago – it's at least settled down and become bearable.  Even if it _will_ take some getting used to.

            A moment after he has the Batmobile in his sights, a distant electronic pinging sound comes to him through the radio transmitter.  He knows what it means – someone is calling Wayne via the Batcomputer.  This is a rare event, since only a few people know the number and they will only use it in a dire situation.  Terry tries to calm the rapid pounding of his heart.  The worst, it seems, is not yet over.

            "_Hmm.  It's from Natalie,_" Wayne tells him.  "_Or one of her friends.  I'll route it to you._"  In other words, he wants Terry to do the talking while he listens in.  He probably doesn't want Natalie to know about him just yet, which is understandable.

            "Thanks," Terry says as he lands next to the Batmobile.  He hears a very soft _click_ as the channel opens.

            "_Batman?  It's Alex – we spoke once before…_"  Terry does indeed remember him; Alex was the one who answered when he called to set up a meeting between Natalie and the JLU.  The guy sounded cool enough back then, but he sounds like a bundle of nervous right now.

            "I remember.  Is there something wrong?" he asks.  It's more or less a rhetorical question.

            "_Natalie and…her assistant went to a business dinner several hours ago._"  By 'her assistant' he means Melanie.  Terry has a good idea of why Alex decided against saying her name."_They should have been back by now, but we haven't seen a sign of them.  You know what's going on with the company – we're worried that something happened to them_."

            "Did you tell the police?" Terry asks.  He wants to know whether or not he can collaborate with Barbara on this – if he can, having the help of the GCPD may do him some good.

            "_I talked to the Commissioner just a few minutes ago.  She said they're not officially 'missing persons' yet, but she'll have her officers keep an eye out for them._"

            "And where were they last seen?"

            "_A restaurant in uptown Gotham.  Kitsune's already headed there. It's a restaurant called Les Trois Pommes.   I'll give you the address…_"

            "I know where it is," Terry tells him as he jumps into the Batmobile.  The car detects him – or, rather, the Batsuit – falling toward the canopy and responds by pulling it back so Terry lands nicely in the pilot's seat.  He reaches out for the controls as the seatbelt buckles itself around him and the roof slides closed over his head.  Then he starts the Batmobile on a rapid ascent.  "I'll be there in five minutes."

~***~

            The first thing to hit Melanie's awareness when she comes to is that her skull feels like it's packed with wool.  The second thing is that she has a funny chemical taste in her mouth.  The third is the memory of how she ended up unconscious in the first place.  She sits bolt upright, then puts a hand to her head and winces when the room starts spinning.  It takes a few moments to settle down again.  Then she looks around the room.

            She's sitting on a foldout cot with a thin rubber mattress and a small pillow on it.  The room is small, shaped like a box, with a dull metal door at one end and a vent set high in the wall at the other.  There's a sink in the rear corner, across from the camp bed.  It's a utility sink, meant for filling buckets and washing paintbrushes.  The floor is concrete, with a drain in the middle.  A naked bulb glows balefully in the center of the ceiling, which is also concrete.  The walls are cinderblock.  All the surfaces are dirty, and there is a distinct smell of mildew in the air.  This room certainly wasn't designed for human habitation – it seems to be a cleaning supply room, actually, just minus the cleaning supplies – but it makes a good temporary prison.  Melanie stands up, goes to the door and tries the dented knob.  Of course it's locked from the outside, but hell, it's always worth a try.

            Her stomach goes tight when she realizes that she has no idea where she really is, or where Natalie is, or even who has kidnapped her.  She assumes that it's the same people who've been trying to get at VibranTech's nanobot data for the past few weeks, but that doesn't really help.  If it's them – and she can't think of anyone else – then she understands why they've captured Natalie, but why are they keeping her alive?  Not out of the goodness of their hearts, that's for sure.

            She goes to the door and puts her ear against it, then opens her mouth so as to pick up any sound vibrations more effectively.  There's definitely something out there…footsteps.  Can't be anything else.  Maybe someone's coming to check up on her.

            This thought makes her realize that, if she wants to try for an escape, this might be a good time to do it.  All she'll have on her side is the element of surprise – but it just might be enough.


	32. Chapter Thirty One : Dead End

            Les Trois Pommes takes up most of the first two floors of a luxury apartment high-rise.  When Tama arrives at said high-rise she finds Batman perched on the edge of the roof, peering down into the restaurant's parking lot.  He must have some magnifying gadgetry in his mask, like she does, or such an exercise would be useless – after all, the object of his attention is a whole thirty stories below.

            He looks up at her as she comes within a few meters of him and lands her board on the roof.  "Find anything?" she asks.  She doesn't really think he _has, but she has to ask._

            Batman turns back to the parking lot.  "One of the valets just finished his shift," he says.  "I'm waiting for him to leave."

            Tama joins him at the roof's edge and looks down, but not long enough or intensely enough to make her optical equipment magnify the view.  "You think he might've seen something?"

            "Maybe.  He _was_ probably the last person to see your boss before she disappeared."  He leans forward a little.  "Look.  There he goes," he says.

            Tama follows his gaze and lets her visual equipment zoom in.  She sees a young man jogging out of the parking lot, headed for the street.  "Nearest subway station is five blocks from here," she remarks.  Tama and Batman both withdraw from the edge of the roof.  He leaps to the roof of an adjacent building as she hops on her board and flips her electropigment switch.

            A brief chase ensues – well, not quite a chase, since they're just shadowing the guy.  Tama follows Batman from rooftop to rooftop for a couple of blocks along a relatively quiet street, until he judges that their man – or kid, since he seems pretty young – is far enough from anyone else that they won't attract unwelcome attention when they talk to him.  "Should we both go, or just one of us?" Tama asks.  "Both of us together might scare him."

            Batman looks at her and pauses for thought.  "You're right.  Do you want to do it, or should I?"

            "_Let him __do it," Alex speaks up over her transmitter.  "_He's probably better at it.  No offense._"_

            "You know more about this kind of thing than I do," Tama admits.

            Batman nods at her.  "Okay.  Just wait up here," he says.  Then he spreads his wings and dives off the roof.  Tama watches as he goes into a glide, more or less in the direction of the kid.

            Well, she thinks, even if she's not participating, this could be a good learning experience.  She zooms in on the kid, pulls a small tube out of a slot in her armor and points it in his direction.  She's not sure how much the microphone will pick up at this range, but if she's lucky, she'll be able to see and hear the whole conversation.

~***~

            Terry shouldn't feel so anxious about this – it's not the first time he's questioned someone, after all.  Getting information from the average guy on the street isn't as easy as getting info from the average thug – you can threaten a bad guy, you can't threaten a civilian – but he's got it down pretty well by now.  And he has Wayne to help him.  Maybe Kitsune's respect for him is putting the pressure on.  It's not a kind of respect he's used to getting.

            He very deliberately lands a couple meters behind the guy, just heavily enough for it to be audible.  That'll startle him a bit, but won't cause him to panic.  The idea is to scare him a little so he cooperates, but not so much that he clams up or runs off.  Terry doesn't have Wayne's talent for intimidation, but he's gotten pretty good at this.  He thinks of it as playing the Good Cop and the Bad Cop all at once.

            The guy spins around – a little spooked, as Terry expected – and freezes, looking at him with wide eyes.  He's about average height, kind of chunky, with short middling-brown hair (that's Terry's guess, since the cowl's visual systems tint everything red) and lots of freckles.  Probably about Terry's age or younger.  "It's okay," Terry says, using his serious-but-not-dangerous tone of voice.  "I just want to ask you a couple of questions."

            "M-me?" the kid asks, like he's not sure he heard right (Terry is Batman now, so he can think of a person his own age as a "kid").

            Terry nods.  "I'm looking for two people who were at the restaurant where you work.  You might have been the last person to see them."

            The kid swallows nervously.  "How- how did you know I worked at…um."  He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.  "I guess you were watching, huh?"

            "For the past fifteen minutes," Terry answers.  Then he gets back on track.  "I'm trying to find two women.  One's blonde with blue eyes, about as tall as you are…"  He pauses for a second to wonder why he started describing Melanie first.

            "Oh.  She was with a short black lady, right?" the kid asks.  That's good, he remembers them.

            "Yeah," Terry says.  "You saw them?"

            "I, like, got their car.  They climbed in and left.  That's it."  It sounded way too simple, too clipped…

            "_He's lying_," Wayne says.  Terry already knew that, if only because the kid's not that good an actor.

            "Something you're not telling me?" Terry asks with just a hint of menace.  He takes a step forward.

            The kid shuffles back a little, cringing and raising his arms as if to protect himself.  Terry's proud that he's doing this the right way, but it also makes him feel a little guilty.

            "No, man!  I told you everything!  Really!"  He's almost sobbing.  Terry doesn't want to press him, but he knows the guy's hiding something.

            His eyes are hidden behind the reflective white optic patches of the cowl, but he can still glare fiercely – which he does, to great effect.

            "Okay, okay!" the kid squeaks, lowering his hands and making a sort of 'calm down' gesture.  Then his gaze darts around like he's looking for eavesdroppers.  "If I tell you," he says in a quiet but very panicked voice, "I'm worried that the guy will come back and kill me.  You know, if he finds out."

            Terry takes this seriously and looks around himself, although more methodically and through the infrared spectrum as well.  A hovercar passes by overhead, but otherwise there's nobody around who can hear.  Except maybe Kitsune, up on the rooftop, and he doesn't have to worry about her.  He switches on the cowl's radar scanner and uses it to check the kid for any listening devices.  There's some change in his pockets, but nothing that looks like a bug.  "There's no one listening," Terry reassures the kid.  "He's not going to find out that you told me anything.  I promise."

            The kid takes a deep breath and calms down a little.  "When I went to get the car, there was a guy waiting in the parking lot.  I couldn't see his face 'cause it was dark, and he had a hat and coat on.  He came up to me while I was unlocking the door and held a gun in my face."  He swallows nervously.  Terry can see that he's sweating.  "He told me to keep quiet and open the door, so I did.  Then he waved the gun, like this" – the kid demonstrates with his index finger – "so I stepped back.  And then this other guy came out, with this little suitcase.  He put it on the front seat and opened it up-"

            "What was in it?" Terry asks.

            The kid shrugs.  "I don't know, I couldn't see it that well.  But he took something out of it and then stuck it under the dashboard – or that's what it looked like, anyway.  After that he popped the hood and put something else in there.  Maybe it was a bomb or something.  I couldn't exactly _ask_ him…"  He trails off and rubs the back of his neck again.  "Then he finished up, closed the hood and just disappeared.  The guy with the gun said to bring the car like there was no problem.  He said he'd shoot me if I didn't act natural."

            "_It probably wasn't a bomb,_" Wayne says thoughtfully, "_If it was, we would have heard something by now.  See if he can remember any other details._"

            Terry asks the kid some more questions, trying to get more details – did the men he saw have a car?  Did he see its license plate?  Did he see them leave? – but all the answers he gets are along the general lines of 'I don't know.'

            Finally he gives up, thanks the kid for his help (he manages to sound sincere about it), and jets into the air to rejoin Kitsune on the roof.  The kid runs the rest of the way to the subway station like he's being chased.

            "I heard everything," she says gravely when he lands next to her.

            Terry shakes his head.  "Got any other ideas?"

            "No," Kitsune says.  "Alex is trying to find their car by tracking its anti-theft beacon, but that's going to take a while.  And there's no guarantee that they'll be with it."  She sighs with frustration.  "I can't believe Natalie didn't put her own homing device in it or something."

            "_I hope Alex finds something,_" Wayne says, "_Because if he doesn't, we're at a dead end_."


	33. Chapter Thirty Two : Methods of Persuasi...

            Morris tries to watch the woman on the chair without _looking_ like he's watching.  He guesses that Stephen, who is standing on the other side of the door, is doing the same thing.  This room used to be an office or something, but since The Boss settled into the place it's been converted into an interrogation room.  Morris himself stripped off the cheap carpet that used to cover the floor.  He also took out most of the furniture.  Someone else painted the walls – and the window – dark gray.  The original fluorescent light fixtures were taken out and replaced with a single, harsh light that now hangs down from the center of the ceiling, directly over the wooden frame chair where the woman is now sitting.  The chair itself is bolted to the floor.  Racks and shelves on the walls hold dozens of devices and chemicals designed specifically to hurt people and/or screw up their heads until they talk.

            The Boss can take anywhere from ten minutes to several hours to get the information he wants.  Morris knows this because he has stood guard through countless interrogations – he and Stephen are often picked for this job because they don't talk about, or get shaken up by, the stuff that goes on in here.  He has learned that the length of the interrogation does not depend solely upon the willpower of the subject.  It depends upon a number of other things as well, such as the amount and complexity of the information The Boss wants to extract and, as in this case, whether or not he can afford to cause serious, permanent or fatal injury to his subject.

            Clearly, The Boss does not wish to hurt this woman any more than he has to.  It's not because he's moved by her small size, her young age or her virtue (most of the people he works on have, at best, extremely flexible morals), but because The Boss needs more than just information from her.  He needs her cooperation in order to get what he and his higher-ups want from her company.  She can't exactly help them – willingly or not – if she's not whole and relatively unharmed.  So The Boss is only using an electric shock collar and vague threats.  No drugs.  No fists.  Nothing that will leave a visible mark on her.

            Even in the interrogation room The Boss dresses sharp, in a subdued gray pinstripe suit of hand-tailored silk.  It matches his hair, which used to be all black but is now about halfway to white.   His skin is rugged, brown and lined, but still somehow tight over his angular nose, chin and cheekbones.  "I'm starting to lose my patience with you," he says to the woman.  But he doesn't sound frustrated.  His voice is middling deep, always quiet and sort of hoarse, like he's recovering from bronchitis.  The effect is somehow intimidating, at least to most people – including Morris and The Boss' other employees.

            Not to _this_ woman, though.  "_I_ lost my patience a long time ago," she says, sounding slightly aggravated.  "Don't you people know when to quit?"

            "Yes - when we get what we want," The Boss answers.  "And you won't be leaving until we do, no matter _how_ many smart remarks you make."

            She sighs and crosses her legs.  "So what are you going to do?" she drawls, eyes moving slowly around the room.  "Torture me?  Shoot me up with truth serum?"

            "I'd prefer not to do that," The Boss says, in a way that suggests he will in fact be doing those things in the near future.  He starts walking back and forth in front of her chair, looking up at the ceiling, his shoes tapping against the concrete floor.  "No, I'm not going to do any of that.  Not to _you_."

            The woman stiffens and her eyes widen a little.  She quickly gets it under control, but Morris knows what she's thinking.  They caught the woman's driver, too, and so far the boss has given the impression that she was killed as soon as the car arrived.  But he's been keeping her to use as a lever.

            "Mister Alberth," The Boss says.  He's still looking at the woman on the chair.  "Bring the girl."

            "Yessir," Morris says smartly.  He adjusts the strap of his rifle on his shoulder as he turns to open the door.  Once he's outside he carefully shuts it behind him and heads for the makeshift holding cell.  On the way he passes a few other guards – they're all dressed the way he is, in charcoal-and-black paramilitary fatigues with no markings.  They all look like corporate security guards, except that they're all carrying assault rifles and several other devices, including explosives, that no mere security guard would ever carry.

            Morris takes two wrong turns on his way to the holding cell.  He can't get the hang of the corridors in this place.  It's an old industrial complex – built around the turn of the century, it contains administration buildings, manufacturing, storage and shipping facilities all in the same large compound.  They hadn't yet started combining all those things and more into single skyscrapers by the time this place was built.  It's an abandoned wreck among similar abandoned wrecks, which is why the higher-ups decided it would be a good hideout.  A fixer-upper hideout, Morris thinks.

            He finally finds the storage closet where he put the girl earlier.  She's probably awake now, and scared half to death.  If she doesn't cooperate she'll at least be unable to put up any resistance.  He takes the keyring off his belt with one hand while he swings the assault rifle around behind his back with the other.  He wants to have his hands free.  It takes a bit of fumbling to get the right key for the lock.  Stupid old-fashioned tumbler locks, he grumbles.

            Finally he finds the right key, turns the knob and pushes the door inward.  He turns his eyes toward the cot but can't see it.  The room's dark, even though he's pretty sure he left the lights on.  Maybe he shut them off after all.  He can't hear anything, either, so he assumes the girl is still out from the gas.  At this point a little cold water should wake her up.  Morris steps into the room and starts patting the wall for the light switch.  When he finds it he flips it on.

            He's startled to see that the girl is standing right in front of him.  And she looks _very_ angry.

            Morris is about halfway through the process of stepping backward when the girl's hand swings around and hits him in the right temple, causing pain and sparks to explode from that side of his skull.  While he's reeling and off-balance from that she grabs him by the front of his uniform and pulls him into the room with surprising strength, shuts the door with the other hand and slams him sideways against the wall, seemingly all at once.  Another bolt of pain flashes through his head.  As he goes down he feels a tug on his belt – by the time he realizes that she's taken his handcuffs she's already locking his wrists together with him.

            By now he's belly-down on the floor.  She puts on knee in the small of his back and an arm around his neck, tight enough to cut off his air supply.  "Sorry," she whispers in his ear, "but I think I'll let _myself_ out."

            Morris realizes all too late that he made a grave mistake.  It's the last thought to enter his consciousness before he loses it entirely.


	34. Chapter Thirty Three : Night Warriors

            Alex knows – at least in principle – how to find a car using its anti-theft tracking system, but he's never had to do it before.  It involves hacking the police database, finding the tracking signal for the particular car, and switching on the beacon without letting the cops know about it.  He could report two people missing and their car stolen, but he wants to keep the police out of this if he can.  Calling them would make things easier in the short run but really, really complicated in the long run, for various reasons.

            His solution, in the manner of most computer programs, is complicated in the short run but a lot simpler in the long run.  It's more complicated than he thought it would be, though.  The GCPD have very good electronic security, almost as good as the stuff he makes for Natalie.  Most police departments aren't so well-equipped.

            He's just resigned himself to a lot of sweat and code-slogging when the computer chimes at him.  A phone call.  Alex wasn't expecting one, and in this situation that makes him think of all sorts of nasty possibilities.  He licks his suddenly dry lips and reaches for the appropriate button like he's afraid it's going to bite him.

            A window pops up in the lower left-hand corner of the large screen in front of him, showing him the caller from the shoulders up.  Or at least it should, but all he can see is static.  He waits, just in case it's a wrong number.  Then a female voice, almost obscured by the electronic buzz of distortion, comes out of the computer speakers.  "_Alex?_"

            "Melanie?" Alex says in a disbelieving near-whisper.

            "_It's me, Alex,_" she says, her voice scratchy but clearly recognizable.  "_I don't have long before they find out I'm not in the truck I crashed.  I'm near the old factory district…_"

            Alex has a some questions buzzing around in his head – What happened?  How did you get away?  Where's Natalie?  What is this about a crashed truck? – but he knows that the most important thing right now is to make sure Melanie will be safe.  "I'm tracking your signal," he says, standing up from his chair.  "Kitsune and Batman are looking for you.  I'll tell them to pick you up…"

            "_No.  I don't want anybody to pick me up,_" Melanie says.

            Alex has trouble absorbing this statement.  The Melanie he knows – though admittedly he doesn't know her all that well – is quiet, reserved and always does what she's asked without question.  This really throws him.  "Okay…what _do_ you want?" he asks.

            "_My suit,_" she says evenly.  "_I know I'm not supposed to use it yet, but I can't just sit while Natalie's still in there._"

            Alex takes a deep breath.  "Melanie," he says, trying to sound as rational as possible, "You don't need to do this.  I'm sure she'd want you to come back."

            "_She _wants _to be rescued,_" Melanie insists with an edge in her voice, "_And I should be going in there to help do it.  I got out of the place and I can show Kitsune and Batman how to get in.  I know it's against the rules but…please let me._"  By the end of her speech she sounds rational again but not, he notices, pleading.  She might very well go back in whether he gives her the suit or not - he's not sure just how far Melanie's stubbornness will let her go, but he doesn't want to risk it.  And, he thinks, she _does_ know where Natalie is, so maybe letting her have her way isn't such a bad idea after all.  He just hopes she won't get herself killed and _he_ won't get in trouble.

            The computer has finished tracking her signal, and the coordinates are now displayed on a smaller window next to the one showing her face.  With a resigned sigh he stands up from his chair.  "All right.  I'm going to tell the others where you are.  Just _please_ don't make me regret this."

~***~

            Terry wishes they were going somewhere, on their way to their next objective, but the two of them are just flying around on one of his patrol routes while they wait for Wayne or Alex to tell them where to find Natalie's car.  Kitsune is in the cockpit of the Batmobile, sitting on the padded semicircular bench behind the pilot's seat – her hoverboard is, for the time being, magnetically attached to the underside of the Batmobile.

            "Jesus," she exclaims as he whips around a turn.  "Could you _slow down_ a little?  It's not like we're chasing anybody right now."

            He can hear Wayne chuckling over the transmitter.  Although Terry wants to respond with some appropriately sarcastic comment, he bites his tongue, slows down to something approaching a sensible speed and starts taking his turns more smoothly.  "Sorry," he says.  "I'm not used to passengers."

             "You mean you're not used to people who don't have titanium stomachs," she says.  Wayne seems to be having trouble keeping himself from breaking into laughter.

            Terry manages to get out a syllable of his reply before Kitsune interrupts him.  "Hold on," she says seriously.  Terry waits for a few seconds.  Then Kitsune leans forward, supporting herself against the back of his pilot's chair, with her face next to his so he can see it out the corner of his eye.  "Alex found Melanie," she tells him.  "She got out.  Alex wants us to meet up with her at the intersection of 58th and Victory."  That's in the old part of town.  How the hell did she get _there?_

            "Tell him I'm on my way," Terry says, picking up speed again and allowing himself a smile of amusement as Kitsune loses her grip on his chair and curses as she thumps back into the rear of the cockpit.

~***~

            He brings the Batmobile down to hover just above the trash-strewn ground of an abandoned lot a few blocks from where they're supposed to meet Melanie.  He disengages the magnetic lock that's keeping Kitsune's board on the underside of his craft, then opens the cockpit so they can both get out.  Kitsune is a little wobbly on her feet after the ride.  Terry notices a small stray dog watching them.  When he locks eyes with the dog it turns away and darts into an alley.  Terry presses a button on his belt to set the Batmobile on autopilot.  It rises up, finds the nearest of its programmed routes and starts on it.

            "Geez, it's quiet here," Kitsune says as she looks at the old buildings, many of which date back to the mid-twentieth century.  She's certainly right – the noise of the city is uncomfortably far away.  They're in the part of Old Town where the workshops and light industry used to be.  Terry wonders what it was like when Wayne was young.  He can't possibly imagine.

            "You coming?" Kitsune says, startling him so his train of thought jumps the tracks.  He turns to see that she's already standing on her hoverboard, bobbing gently about half a meter above the ground.  Terry nods, spreads his wings, and leaps into the air with a quick burst of his boot jets.  He lands neatly on the nearest roof and starts running over the crumbling brick and concrete, leaping the gaps when he comes to them.  Kitsune hovers along just above him.

            When they come to the right intersection – Terry notices a bank of dilapidated payphones below – he jumps off the roof, twists around in the middle of the five-story fall, and lands in a crouch on the sidewalk.  He stands up as Kitsune touches down beside him and looks around.  There's nobody there.

            "Where _is_ she?" Terry mutters to himself as he turns to look behind him.  Suddenly he hears a noise and whips back around to see someone emerging from an alley.

            The someone is a little shorter than Terry, clad in a close-fitting black ninja outfit.  Nose and mouth are covered by a piece of black cloth worn surgical-mask style over the lower part of the face.  The person looks at him with flexible optic lenses of the same type as his own.  Terry notices a sword handle sticking up over the person's right shoulder.  Once he gets over the initial shock, he realizes that the person is female.  He also realizes that she doesn't seem to mean him in any harm, so he should straighten up from the threatening battle-ready crouch he's in.  Terry can't shake the feeling that he's missing something important.

            "_Is that Melanie Walker?_" Wayne asks incredulously, pinning down the thing that was bothering Terry.  And, now that he's thinking about how she walked out of the alley, and the way she's standing, and the circumstances…it couldn't be anyone else.  She was certainly right about the importance of little details.  He doesn't answer Wayne's question – Terry's learned not to talk over the transmitter when there are other people within earshot.

            Kitsune clears her throat and steps forward.  "Batman," she says, gesturing at Melanie, "I'd like you to meet Shinobi."  


	35. Chapter Thirty Four: Trust

            Natalie isn't sure what's going on, but she knows it must be bad for her captors.  They never brought Melanie in; instead, twenty minutes after one of the goons had been sent out, someone came in and informed Mr. Grey Suit (as she'd come to think of him) that something was wrong.  He'd gone out into the hall and spoken with the messenger.  There was some kind of heated exchange, but she couldn't really hear it with the door closed.  Next thing she knew, an angry Grey Suit ordered that Natalie be returned to her cell and placed under guard.  No one, he said, could go in without at least two other people to watch them.

As she was being dragged back to the little room they'd kept her in before, she noticed that people were running around and there was an air of general commotion about the place.  She had some idea of what had happened, even though they never told her – Melanie, bless her, had gotten out.  Of course they couldn't have known about the intense training she'd been going through for the past several months, or the fact that she was a born and bred thief.

Natalie, waiting in her makeshift holding cell, silently roots for her protégé.

~***~

            _Melanie, you idiot,_ Tama thinks just after making the introduction.  Since Batman knew they were going to meet Melanie, he certainly knows who Shinobi is now.  He'd have to be stupid not to, and hell, Batman's the opposite of stupid as a rule.

            She'd like to straighten Melanie out for this, maybe Alex too, but she acts like it's all okay.  In both the heroing business and the martial arts it's not a good idea to lose your cool.

            "We've met," he says guardedly, looking at Melanie/Shinobi with an expression that Tama can't quite make out because of his mask.  She remembers what Melanie told her yesterday – "_we were in a relationship._"  A _very serious_ relationship.  Tama did the sane thing and put that conversation in the back of her mind, but now she finds it elbowing its way up front.  She pushes it back, telling herself as she does that it's up to her to keep everyone focused.

            "Shinobi," Tama says, trying to get down to business and off a very uncomfortable subject, "Where's Natalie now?  What's the place like?"

            "It's an old car factory several blocks from here," Melanie says.  "The guys there've turned it into a kind of undercover military base."

"Who _are_ they?  Any idea?" Tama asks.

            Melanie shakes her head.  "Uh-uh.  They look a lot like high-class corporate security – lots of fancy weapons, uniforms, stuff like that.  I also saw some computers and communications equipment while I was in there, but I couldn't get a close look."

            "We'll figure that out while we're there," Batman says.  He obviously wants to take these guys out as much as Tama and Melanie do.

            Tama takes his remark as a hint that they should get going.  "_First_ we get Natalie out, _then_ we'll find out who those dregs are.  And maybe knock their heads together," she adds.  Then she turns to Melanie.  "You first," she says.

            Melanie nods, steps back and lifts her arms.  A set of black wings with gray undersides unfold from her back and snap into place.  She propels herself into the air with a quick burst of her boot jets, then starts gliding like a large bird of prey.  Batman, after watching her for a moment, follows in the same fashion.  Tama wills her hoverboard to rise – it's connected to the synaptic links in her suit – and brings up the rear.  She presses a button on her wrist to go into blackout mode and flies low over the rooftops so she'll be difficult to see.  There are no skyscrapers to dodge behind, no tangles of raised roads and walkways and billboards to disappear into.  She feels uncomfortably exposed.

            But what she feels _really_ uncomfortable about are her two comrades.  She doesn't know how they're going to handle working with each other – or even _if_ they can handle it.

~***~

            Terry hopes that Melanie is feeling as nervous and embarrassed as he is.  Oh, great, now he's feeling guilty for wishing that on her, too.  Part of him hopes that after this thing is over he won't ever see her again.  And then there's the other part, which feels miserable at the prospect of never seeing her…

            _Focus, McGinnis,_ he tells himself in a very Wayne-like tone of thought.  This is about rescuing Natalie from a bunch of thugs (well, maybe they're a cut above thugs) and shutting down their operation.  It's not about his and Melanie's sad story.  He'll have to work with her and that's what he's going to do.

            But can he trust her?  Uh-uh.  No way.  But he doesn't _dis_trust her; she's not really a bad person, and now that she's severed all ties with her parents he knows he's got no reason to be afraid of her.  The issue is not whether he trusts her or not, but whether he can trust himself to think clearly while he's working with her.  Yeah, he can do that.

            Up ahead Melanie touches down on the sloping, corrugated-steel roof of an old factory and hides in the shadows between smokestacks.  Terry joins her and Kitsune follows a few seconds later.  "That's the place," Melanie whispers, pointing to a large complex a few buildings away.  Terry focuses on it so that the visual equipment in his cowl will zoom in.  It's obviously from the 2010's or 2020's, when industrial companies were starting to draw warehouses, manufacturing facilities and administrative offices together into one connected unit – this complex is a precursor to the kinds of buildings that now house Wayne Industries, Foxteca and the like.

            Something catches Terry's eye.  He focuses in on it, his vision zooming closer.  The thing is a person, walking around the complex and keeping close to the shadows.  He's kind of hard to see because of the dark, the distance and the gray clothing, but he's definitely there.  And he's carrying an assault rifle.

            "Listen," Kitsune says, speaking quietly even though there's nobody nearby to hear.  "You two have camo.  I don't.  Maybe I should distract them while you break in."

            Terry nods.  It sounds like a perfectly good strategy to him.

            "Just be careful," Melanie says.

            "Of course," Kitsune reassures her.  "I'll go out first – then you fly in."  Kitsune's hoverboard, which was floating just a few centimeters above the roof during this conversation, slowly moves downward until it clears the corrugated-steel surface.  Then she pilots a crooked course toward the industrial complex.  Halfway there her blackened suit and board resume their original bright colors, and she makes a beeline for the center of the complex.  A few moments later Terry can see muzzle flashes and hear the sound of gunfire.  He sees Kitsune swooping around, dodging shots and presumably knocking a few heads.

            "Let's go," Melanie says, startling him.  As he turns to look at her she touches something on her belt, then shimmers and fades.  Terry can still see her on infrared, but not in the visible spectrum.  She takes off from the roof and spreads her wings.

            Terry takes a deep breath, turns on his own camo, and follows her.


	36. Chapter Thirty Five: The Gauntlet

_Author's Note:  Sorry I haven't been updating lately.  I admit that I was lazy when I could have been writing, and now school has started and stuff has been going on.  The next few chapters will probably be shorter than usual, but it's nearly at the end._

            While Kitsune is keeping the guards occupied near the front gate of the complex, Terry and Melanie touch down by a loading bay around back.  Piles of old crates and shipping containers – some stacked neatly, some collapsed in heaps, all dusty and decaying in one way or another – make it a relatively concealed spot.  Melanie certainly knows what she's doing, but that really isn't a surprise.

            Terry takes a quick look around in the infrared spectrum to make sure nobody's nearby.  Melanie seems to be doing the same thing.  They both come to the conclusion that they're safe, switch off their camo and fade back into the visible spectrum.  "We'd better hurry before they figure out Kitsune's just keeping them busy," Melanie whispers.  Terry expects her to go up on the loading ramp and try to open the steel-shutter door, but she doesn't.  Instead she scans the ground, walks a few meters to the left, and kneels down.  Then she removes something from her belt – a length of cord attached to a metal rod about the size and width of her thumb.  She shakes it out and it snaps open into a grappling hook.

            "This was how I got out," she says as she wedges the hook into the small opening in the manhole cover.  Then she gets up and goes around to the other side of the manhole, letting out a little more cord as she goes.  When she's about half a meter from it she hold the cord with both hands, takes in the slack and jerks on it.  The manhole cover bolts upward, stands on its edge for half a second and falls backward with a _clang_.  Terry's glad that there's nobody around to hear.

            Melanie goes and detaches the grappling hook from the manhole cover.  She folds it back into a rod again, then presses something in the compartment of her belt where the reel of line is stored.  Terry hears a whirring noise as the cord is drawn back into its compartment.  Once the folded hook is in and the whirring stops, Melanie closes the belt compartment.  Then she goes over to the manhole.

            "Hold on – I'll go first," Terry says, feeling some inexplicable need to be gallant and regretting it instantly.

            He can't see the look Melanie is giving him from behind her mask, but he feels that he might be better off not knowing.  She steps back from the manhole without saying anything.  Terry goes up to the edge and looks in.  There's no light in there, of course, but his cowl lets him see the concrete slab flooring five or six meters below.  Instead of taking the ladder down he just jumps in and lands in a crouch.  He's in a small alcove off a larger, rounded concrete tunnel.  Various pipes run along the walls and ceiling.  The place smells dank but not, thank God, like a sewer.  That's probably further down, at the level of the rest of Gotham's sewer system (which Terry is more familiar with than he'd like to be) – these are just the water pipes and underground wires for the complex above.

            As soon as he moves out of the alcove, Melanie drops in behind him.  "We're not going to take the same way out, are we?" he asks.

            "Probably not," she says.  "We'll take whatever's closest."  She steps around to his right and starts walking down the concrete tunnel.  Terry follows her lead, keeping his eyes and ears open for any potential threat.  You never know

            "_Terry,_" Wayne hails him over the transmitter, "_I've found the blueprints for the factory._"  Terry almost asks why it took so long, but he stops himself – he doesn't want to talk to Wayne in front of Melanie, if he can avoid it.  "_It was in the archives.  This place has been abandoned for a long time,_" he explains, answering Terry's unspoken question.  The architectural plans for every public, commercial and industrial building in Gotham City were stored in the municipal database.  That database had been around since Terry's mother was a teenager, but the filing system has changed a few times since then.  And the city administration doesn't want to spend the time or resources it would take to reorganize files for buildings that nobody's using anyway.

            Suddenly a map drawn in glowing orange lines superimposes itself on his vision.  It's a map of the tunnel system he's currently in.  A yellow arrowhead shows him where he is and which way he's facing.  Once he goes up a level the map will change to show him the ground floor.  For now, he lets Melanie lead him.  She can follow when they climb up and out of the tunnels.

            "_I'm contacting Barbara,_" Wayne informs him.  "_She'll send the police in once you have Natalie out.  I don't want her to get caught in the crossfire._"  A sensible precaution, because there is _definitely_ going to be some heavy crossfire once the police arrive.

            They come to a place where two passageways cross.  Melanie takes a left turn.  "We're going to the main office building," she says.  "I'm not sure where Natalie is, but she's probably on the same floor I was."

            "Once we get her out, my…assistant is going to call the cops," he informs her.

            Melanie nods as she comes to another alcove with a ladder in it.  She puts her hands on the rung at her eye level, as if she's about to start climbing, but then she pauses.  "I know who your 'assistant' is," she says quietly.

Terry wonders if Wayne is as surprised – okay, _alarmed_ – as he is, but he doesn't hear anything to indicate it.  He doesn't trust himself to say anything that he won't regret later on, so he keeps his mouth shut.

She turns her head to look over her shoulder at him.  "It wasn't that hard to figure out," she tells him, her voice almost apologetic.  "But I'm the only one who knows."

Of course.  Once she knew who she was, it wouldn't have taken too much effort for her to find out who he worked for.  He's confident that she won't tell anyone she shouldn't, but to hear her say that she knows makes him very uncomfortable.  Terry doesn't want to talk about it anymore.  "Let's stick to the rescue, okay?" he almost snaps.

Melanie mumbles some apology and starts climbing up the rusty ladder.  He follows at a safe distance and waits while she listens just below the grate at the top.  "There's nobody there," she tells him.  Then she pushes the grate upward and moves it aside – something she probably couldn't have managed without her suit.  She climbs through the opening.  Terry comes through shortly after to find himself in some kind of defunct boiler room.

"Natalie should be on this level," Melanie says in a whisper.  "Probably behind a door with a guard outside it."

Terry thinks at first that she's just being pessimistic, but he figures out that she's just telling him what to look for.  "If they haven't all left to chase Kitsune," he says.

"There should still be a few around," Melanie assures him.  She goes up to the door, which is at the top of a short concrete stairway, and puts her ear to it for a few seconds.  "All clear," she says.  "Come on."  Then she pushes the door open.

~***~

            The old factory is full of activity.  There are a lot of people – soldiers mostly – running around and shouting at each other.  A lot of them are carrying boxes, trunks, pieces of equipment or portable furniture, some with the help of antigrav sleds but most with just their hands.  Terry thinks that they may be evacuating the place, since they know they've been discovered.  Maybe using Kitsune as a distraction wasn't such a good idea.  They might have put extra guards on Natalie or even moved her somewhere else by now.  But, he thinks, it would have been just as bad, maybe worse, if they'd all snuck in without using a distraction and ended up being discovered.

            Terry and Melanie dart into a side corridor to avoid a group of guards jogging down one of the wider hallways.  At least, Terry thinks, it's easy to know when people are coming.  If only it were that easy to find Natalie.  As it is, they'll have to comb the whole place for her.  The various vision enhancements in their respective suits make it easier, but it's still going to be a very long and very difficult process.

            He's lost count of how many corridors they've gone through.  All of them look pretty much the same, with their crumbling cheap tiles, dim lights and rusting doors.  If it weren't for the map, he'd think they were just going in circles.  They probably _would_ be.  Terry's starting to feel stupid, the way he usually does when he can't find a clue or put the ones he has together.  Although Wayne doesn't seem to have any ideas either, so it's not just him…

            Terry jumps when Melanie grabs his arm, putting his train of thought back on the right track.  He realizes, now, that he can hear the tramp of a few pairs of boots and a man's voice – a very _irritated_ man's voice – both of which are coming closer and closer.  For a moment he is grateful to Melanie for paying attention when he didn't – and then he feels embarrassed.  It's not just because he let himself get distracted.  There's another reason.  His feelings regarding Melanie are very complicated, but there is a sort of pattern to them, and gratitude just doesn't seem to fit.

            During that moment of intense embarrassment Melanie jerks the handle of the nearest door, opens it and darts in.  She still has him by the wrist, but she's not exactly dragging him, since he manages to keep up with her.  Melanie shuts the door, quickly and quietly, throwing the room into what would be almost complete darkness if they didn't have their infrared and light-enhancing equipment to see by.  Terry takes a quick glance at the room and sees a long wooden table surrounded by simple chairs, a fallen whiteboard at the end of the room to his left, and on the end to his right, a smaller folding table with an ancient, cobweb-draped coffee urn.  A meeting room.

            Outside, the tramp of boots clatters to a halt.  Terry can still hear the man he heard earlier, but he can't make out more than the occasional nearly-shouted word.  He notices that Melanie has the two fingers of her right hand against the door.  She must have finger mikes, like he does.  Terry puts his own fingers to the door, and the voice is suddenly clear, as if there's nothing between him and the speaker.

            "…not going to just leave her here.  Not after all that trouble."  The voice is fairly deep and, though it sounds a little breathy and hoarse, the sound of it sends prickles down Terry's spine.  He knows the voice of a cold-blooded killer when he hears it.

            Judging by the sound of things, the man seems to be pacing back and forth outside the door.  Terry activates his heat vision and sees that there is indeed someone pacing; he is tall, and of medium build.  He moves like a frustrated predator, just what Terry expected to see after hearing his voice.  There are four other people – his accompanying guards – standing around, their stances indicating that they're only pausing and not expecting to stay where they are for long.  The predator-man seems to be talking into a mobile phone or walkie-talkie.

            After several seconds' pause, during which he listens to the person on the other end of the line, the man growls, "Then just draw her off.  Get her away from the garage."  Now he starts walking down the corridor again, listening to whoever's on the phone.  The guards follow him, and by the time he speaks again, he's too far off to hear.

            "_He's going to try and get Natalie out,_" Wayne says."_If he does, we might not find her again.  Find the garage._"

            "Me…_Shinobi,_ where'd you steal the truck from?"  Terry hopes that's the last stupid thing he's going to say tonight, although he doubts it.

            Melanie doesn't even blink at his nearly using her real name.  "In the opposite direction from where he went.  He's getting Natalie first.  I think we should follow him."

            "No," Terry says, "I don't think that would be a good idea.  With that many guards in a confined space, it's going to be harder.  If we get her at the garage, we can get her out more quickly, and we'll have Kitsune right there to help us."  He's surprised at his quick reaction, and the resolve in his voice – he realizes that it's the first time tonight he's really felt like he's Batman and not just Terry wearing the suit.  Maybe he's finally getting used to Melanie.  "She won't get hurt on the way.  He'll make sure of that," he adds.

            Melanie gives him what might be a funny look, but decides to follow his plan of action.  Maybe she's deferring to his experience, the way Kitsune did before.  But he really can't tell with her.  She nods, opens the door and slips out.  He follows her without a second thought.

            Terry knows by now that he can trust her, at least to some extent.  Now he's wondering what she thinks of him.


	37. Chapter Thirty Six: Priority

            Tama sees a couple of goons drawing a bead on her from a nest of metal crates.  She swoops around to avoid their shots and then dives at them, spinning her staff, using the ends to flick their rifles away.  As she ascends again they yell with pain and curl up around their injured hands.  If she broke their bones, well, it serves them right, and any decent prison hospital can fix that kind of damage.

            There are injured and unconscious soldiers all over the place, but there are still quite a lot left to shoot at Tama, who is agitated and starting to get worried.  Melanie and Batman had better finish whatever it is they're doing – she won't be able to keep this up for much longer.

            The troops suddenly start falling back, towards the administrative building.  Tama's not going to let them get away that easily; she keeps harassing them and manages to knock a couple down as the group flees.  "_Don't follow them_," she hears Alex say.  "_They've got orders to draw you away from the warehouses.  Stay in the area._"

            "How do you know?" she mutters as she draws back and watches her enemies warily.

            "_They're going to try and move Natalie out.  Mel heard them.  She and Batman are following – they're on the walkway to the warehouses now – but they want you around to help._  _Especially if they put Nat in a hovercar._"

            Tama dodges a few shots from the soldiers, who have figured out that she's not inclined to follow them and are advancing again.  They've managed to get into relatively secure positions, so Tama's going to have more trouble with them now.  "They better get out here soon," she growls.

~***~

            Terry and Melanie are shadowing the man they'd overheard earlier.  Privately, Terry has nicknamed him Grey Suit because of his neat, pinstriped business outfit.  It seems impractical for a place like this, especially since the place is a mess after being abandoned for so many years, but he wears it anyway and somehow manages to keep it looking like it's just come back from the cleaner's.  Maybe it's some kind of extra-strength, dirt-repelling nanomaterial.  Terry wouldn't be surprised.  But it's not the suit he's concentrating on – he's got more important things to do, like make sure that he can follow Grey Suit, the four guards and Natalie to wherever they're headed.  Judging from the direction they're taking, their destination is one of the warehouses, on the opposite side of the compound from the office building they're in now.

            "They're going to the same place I did," Melanie says quietly.  "With the trucks."

            They go through a door into a long, narrow, enclosed walkway.  There are lights on the low ceiling, but they aren't working.  The only light comes through the evenly spaced windows that run down each side.  Terry can hear the faint sounds of shooting somewhere in the distance to his right – Kitsune's still fighting with the soldiers.  He switches on his camo to follow Grey Suit and his goons down the narrow enclosed walkway to the storage buildings.  Melanie has hers on too, but he can see her through his IR filter.  He's glad she wasn't so well-equipped when they weren't on the same side.

            _No.  Bad idea to think about that now._

            Grey Suit opens the door at the other end of the walkway.  He and the goons go through, with Natalie firmly in hand.  Terry wonders if she knows that he and Melanie are shadowing her – she's giving no sign of it, but he likes to think that she's aware of it.  Wayne would be, in that situation.

            Terry and Melanie slip through the door before it closes.  They emerge into the high-vaulted warehouse, which is lit by a series of powerful standing lamps.  Even with his light enhancement Terry can barely make out the ceiling.  Hanging lights – not working, of course – dangle in rows from the crisscrossing girders above.  There are also four old, disused cranes, one near each corner of the warehouse.  They must have been for moving the big truck-crates that are stacked all around in dusty piles.  Outside he can still hear the shooting, and occasionally yelling, but the sounds are more muffled than they were in the walkway.

            Part of the warehouse has been cleared of truck crates.  In that place there are three actual trucks – they don't look as run-down as the warehouse, so they obviously belong to the current occupants.  There are also about half a dozen vans and some cars there.  Grey Suit, who is now steering Natalie with a hand placed firmly on her shoulder, is heading for one of the cars; a black one with no wheels, so it must be a hovercar.  Beside it stands a huge, pale man with a shaven skull.  Terry thinks he looks a lot like Mad Stan, but more stretched out on the vertical axis.

            "They're about to take her out in a black hovercar.  Tell Kitsune to be ready," Melanie says.  Terry realizes that she's talking to a rider, someone who does for her what Wayne does for him.  He wonders why she wants to do it that way – they have plenty of space to move, so they can just take out the bad guys and get Natalie away from here – but then he decides that she has the right idea.  There are too many guns here, and while getting Natalie out of the car once it's airborne will pose its own problems, there will be fewer guns to worry about.  That means no crossfire for her to get caught in.

            Wayne seems to agree with Melanie's strategy.  "_Don't bother with the other people in here,_" he tells Terry.  "_Getting Natalie back is your first priority.  I'll tell Barbara to move in as soon as they're gone._"

            Terry realizes that his mouth is dry, and he can feel his heart pounding in his ears.  He watches as Grey Suit gets into the backseat of the car with Natalie.  The muscleman gets into the driver's seat.  One of the soldiers takes the passenger seat next to him.  They seem to take forever – Terry almost wants to scream at them to take off already.  Usually he doesn't get this antsy, even on an hours-long stakeout, but things like this really put him on edge.

            A flash of memory: he remembers holding Tanya Wooten, the dread in the pit of his stomach, the terrible redness of her blood.  And then, standing in a vandalized apartment, looking at the broken, almost unrecognizable body that used to be Warren McGinnis…

            The hovercar's engine starts up with a whir, pulling him back to the here and now.  His fists are clenched so tightly that they hurt.  Terry spreads them out, flexes his fingers, tries to focus.  He's getting distracted a lot, lately, and he's angry at himself for it.

            One of the large cargo-bay doors on the wall to his right starts rolling upwards, revealing the dark shapes of buildings against the cobalt sky, and the lights of downtown Gotham in the distance.  The hovercar slowly rises off the floor and begins moving towards the opening.  Terry fixes his eyes on that car, making it the center of his world.

            He's not going to lose this time, no matter how much it costs him to succeed.


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven: Just Another Chase...

            "_The car's about to take off,_" Alex says in the rushed, high-pitched way of someone who is very nervous.  "_Batman and Mel are going after it.  Cover them, but if they can't keep up it's all up to you."_

            Tama risks taking her eyes off the snipers for a few moments so that she can look back at the garage/warehouse.  Sure enough, there's a rectangle of light at ground level.  It's expanding upwards as the door opens.  For a moment Tama thinks of zipping in there to meet the car head-on, but she realizes that wouldn't be a good idea.  It's probably going to come out fast, and she's pretty sure the driver won't have any qualms about mowing her down.

            When a gleaming black hovercar rockets out of the square of light Tama's glad that she decided not to go in through the garage door – even in her armor she wouldn't have stood a chance.  Two dark streaks trailing flames follow after it.  They aren't going so fast that she can't make them out; Batman is in the lead, with Melanie behind him.  Some blaster bolts lash out at them from the garage door and from the soldiers already out among the boxes, but they all miss.  Tama decides to buzz the nearby soldiers one more time before heading off after her friends to cover their tales and, if need be, take up the chase herself.

~***~

            Terry can't help but feel satisfied by the surprised expressions that appear on the faces of the nearby guards when he and Melanie blast out of the makeshift garage to follow the black hovercar.  He weaves through a number of blaster shots on his way out and takes note of Kitsune, who starts following him as he flies over the walls of the industrial complex.  If the bad guys send another car or some other vehicle after him, it will take a while for them to catch up.  Speaking of vehicles…

            He quickly presses a button on his belt that will summon the Batmobile.  Somewhere it's disengaging from its autopilot route and making a sharp turn in his direction.  The movement causes him to wobble a little bit in his flight, but he quickly corrects it.

            Now the passengers in the car have noticed that they're being chased.  Terry sees the front passenger window and one of the rear windows slide down.  The soldier he saw is leaning out of the front window, and Grey Suit is in the back.  They both have blasters, which they point at him (he's slightly ahead of Melanie) and fire.  Terry weaves around, dodging their shots almost without thinking.

            Right now they're only about two stories off the ground.  The buildings around them reach up to five or six stories.  At the moment they're not ascending; they probably want to try and slag him, then maybe rise above the buildings and into the open air.  At this height the driver can't go too fast because the streets aren't in a regular grid – this is Old Town, after all – and he has to worry about bumping into something.  But above the buildings he can probably leave Terry and Melanie in the dust.  The Batmobile isn't anywhere close by, and they may be long gone before Terry can get in the cockpit.

            Unfortunately they seem to be pretty quick on the uptake.  Grey Suit and the soldier are still shooting, but the car is rising slowly.  In half a minute, maybe a little more, they'll be up far enough to blast off.  Terry checks a little red display in the lower left-hand corner of his vision.  "THRUSTERS AT MAXIMUM," it says.  He's going as fast as he can.

            Well, jets aren't the only way to keep up.  He holds out his left arm, trying to keep himself steady as he does so, and fires his grappling hook at the car.  It puts a nasty dent in the trunk but doesn't catch.  Terry retracts the line and tries again.  This time it pierces the back of the car and stays.  He's done this lots of times before.  He grips the cord with both hands.  Now he's almost hang-gliding behind the car.  He starts pulling himself forward, inching bit by bit towards his target.  Now the trick is to make it there without getting shot…

~***~

            Barbara had not been able to assemble her troops in the neighborhood around the warehouse so that she would be ready to strike at the right time, since that wasn't the way the police did things and it would raise too many questions.  But Bruce's forewarning allowed her to look at a map of the area and make up a strategy before she went in.  And she'd taken one of the small GCPD hovercars there herself.  She might have had to wait on Bruce's orders – a circumstance that she resented, and still does, even though he was right – but she's going to do this _her_ way, and get a piece of the action too.  Almost like the old days.

            Right now she's parked in an alleyway, lights off, watching the glowing map on one of the dashboard screens.  On it are two dots; Terry and the hovercar he's chasing.  All hovercars have a GPS uplink so that they can get route updates fed into their onboard computers, so a person with the right equipment, who knows what they're looking for, can track them pretty easily.  Terry's case is a little different.  Barbara managed to find the frequency for the transmitter in his suit, and uses a secure program to keep track of him at all times.  Neither Bruce nor Terry knows that she can do this, and they're never _going_ to know.

            On another screen variously colored dots representing about a fifth of the GCPD's total forces are closing in on a collection of lines representing the defunct industrial complex Natalie Milou's kidnappers (minus the ones in the car) are hiding in.  Normally Barbara would be taking care of the main assault herself, but this time she's delegated that to Captain Burke.  She's half-listening to the strike force's communications over her radio, but everything seems to be going fine, so she doesn't really pay much attention.  Barbara's interested in that car Batman is chasing.

            And, what luck, it's coming her way.  As she watches the red blip of the car get closer to her own green blip on the screen, she becomes aware of the sound of its engines.  "Hit it," she says to Lieutenant Mia Rhodocanakis, who is in the driver's seat.  Mia's one of the best drivers on the police force.  She quickly flips a few switches to power up the car and turns the siren on, then lifts out of the alley to place herself in front of and slightly above the black hovercar.  In the rearview mirror Barbara can see that Terry has harpooned the car and is flying along behind it while two of the passengers attempt to fry him with blasters.  She finds this both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid, and she smiles.  Lieutenant Rhodocanakis whistles appreciatively at Batman's feat but keeps her concentration on driving.  There's also someone else flying along behind Batman – Barabara doesn't know who it is – and farther back a red figure that is probably Kitsune.

            Barbara grabs the mike for the car's speakers and presses the button on it.  "This is the Gotham City Police," she says in her sternest voice.  "Reduce your speed and land _immediately_."

            The black hovercar ignores her, as she thought it would.  Instead it continues to rise.  It can only go slowly because most of its engine power is going into propelling it forward.  Barbara frowns and puts the mike back in its clip.  "Get above it," she tells her lieutenant.  "We'll try to force it down."

            "Yes ma'am," Lieutenant Rhodocanakis says, trying to hide her excitement and failing.

            Barbara can't help feeling excited herself.  This is about to get very interesting.


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight: Leap of Faith

            Terry's so busy inching along the grapple cord and (barely) dodging blaster shots that he hardly notices the police hovercraft pulling in front of the black car.  When Barbara's voice booms out of the speakers it startles him.  Once he's over the shock, though, he grins.

            Until a blaster bolt narrowly misses his left shoulder.  Then he grits his teeth and starts pulling himself along the cord again.  His arms are starting to hurt.  He knows that if it weren't for the suit he'd be hurting like hell.

            It occurs to him to wonder whether Melanie and Kitsune are close behind him.  He doesn't dare to look back, and he can't hear them.  Terry may very well be on his own.  Except for Barbara, of course.  The black hovercar is trying to rise, but the police unit sort of slides in over it and neatly matches its speed and course.

            Now the soldier in the front passenger seat is trying to shoot up at the cop craft and only the guy in the back is concentrating on Terry.  Barbara's car will hold up against shots for a while.  Terry is now only about two meters from his grapple's anchor point.  He can clearly see Gray Suit scowling at him as he pulls off a couple blaster shots, then ducks back into the car to put in a fresh energy clip.

            While he's reloading, Terry wonders if he should get a Batarang ready to disarm him when he pops back out.  He decides against it – he needs his hands on the grapple cord and his aim will be off anyway.

            "_McGinnis!  Pull yourself up before he starts shooting you again,_" Wayne snaps.

            "I'm trying," Terry growls as he does a frantic hand-over-hand to the car's trunk.  At last he's within arm's reach of it.  He extends the claws in his right glove and digs them into the trunk.  Then he lets go of the grapple with his left hand, extends those claws, and digs in.

            The engine of the GCPD craft whines and thunders in his ears now that he's so close.  With a great deal of effort he pulls himself forward along the black car's trunk, up to the rear windshield.  It's tinted so that he can see only faint shadows inside.  With a thought he switches on his infrared vision.  Natalie is there, with her back to him.  He can't tell if she's conscious or not.  Gray Suit is about to lean out the window again.  With a turn of speed that surprises even him, Terry claws his way up and to the left.

When Gray Suit sticks his head out the car window and tries to aim his weapon, Terry takes a swipe at him.  He manages to disarm the man – his gun _pangs_ off the side of the car and falls – but doesn't manage to do more than clip his forearm.  Gray Suit ducks back into the car and shouts something Terry can't quite make out.

He finds out quickly enough, though – the car comes to a screeching halt (or what would have been a screeching halt, if it had rubber tires) as its magnetic drivers reverse their fields.  Terry loses his tenuous one-handed grip and the police unit overshoots the black car by at least six meters before it starts slowing down.  The grappling hook Terry sunk into the back of the car is still holding, and since Terry didn't detach himself from the cord he jerks to a stop after only a short fall.  Unfortunately he reaches the end of the rope just as the black car starts on a steep ascent, so the jolt is particularly nasty.  He's been subjected to worse punishment, though, and quickly regains his equilibrium.

Terry takes a quick look behind him and sees that Melanie has almost caught up with him.  Kitsune is not too far behind her.  But then the black car, which has gotten above the level of the surrounding rooftops, veers off sideways before either they or the police unit can reach it again.  It starts going faster than before – the driver can afford to put on the speed now that there are no obstacles to worry about – and Terry decides that he'll have to pull his way along the rope again.  It'll help if he's more careful this time around.

But, as it turns out, he has to do something quite different.

~***~

            They cuffed Natalie's hands in front of her, not behind, so that it would be easier for her to sit down in the car seat.  They must have thought that the shock collar would be enough to keep her in line.  It's kept her from doing anything overt, but she's managed to raise her blindfold a little without being noticed.  She can see a few things and hear a lot more.

            For instance, by listening to the words exchanged between the other people in the car, she learns that the shock to its frame she felt earlier was Batman harpooning the trunk.  She also learned that the sudden stop they just made threw him off, and that now he is being pulled along behind them.  This seems like a good opportunity to do something.  Natalie's got a plan – it depends on both her and Batman being fast, and also a little on her being lucky.  If it goes wrong she'll be dead, but it's a chance she's willing to take.

            First she unclips her seat belt, then tucks the metal tab between her leg and the seat so it looks like she's still wearing it.  She does this very quietly, and succeeds in pulling it off without getting caught.  The others in the car are too concerned with Batman to worry about her.  Afterwards she turns her head and looks at the door, or at least what part of it can be seen in the narrow window of view permitted by the slightly pushed-up blindfold.  Her eyes settle on the handle, and the door-lock tab next to it.  If it were unlocked she'd see the red underside of the tab, which she doesn't.  Natalie takes a deep breath, preparing herself, and then grabs the handle with one hand while catching the index finger of the other beneath the lock tab.  She's got the door unlocked and halfway open before her captor in the seat next to her comprehends what she's doing and shouts.

            The shock collar sends pain through her, but by then she's already throwing herself into the door and getting her right arm out of the seat belt.  The man in the seat next to her tries to grab her wrist but only gets her sleeve, which tears as she lets gravity take her the rest of the way out of the car.

            For the first long second of the fall she's almost convinced that this is a nightmare, and she'll wake up when she hits the ground, or maybe even before then.  But the weak illusion is torn away by the rushing air around her.  While part of her is terrified, another part wonders how far up in the air the car was when she jumped out.

            And then, all of a sudden, she is snatched out of the air.  "That was _completely_ insane," she hears Batman shout over the rush of wind.

            Natalie grins.  "But it worked, didn't it?" 


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine: Starless Sky

            Terry knows it will take a while for him to decide how he feels about Natalie's stunt – whether it was stupid, brave, schway, or what – but as she said, it worked.  Barbara, Kitsune and Melanie can certainly handle the car on their own, now that there isn't a hostage inside to worry about.  He peels off to the side, going at a right angle to the course of the black car.  There should be a safe place for him to put Natalie and get the handcuffs off her…

            He hears a _whoomph_ sound – the muted sound of something bursting into flame – somewhere uncomfortably close behind him.  A painful burst of heat flares in the area of his left shoulder, and the acrid smell of burning circuitry fills his nose.  Natalie emits a horrified gasp.  Over the transmitter he can hear Wayne's alarmed "_What's going on?_"  As he goes into a wild downward spin he manages to connect all these sensations into a coherent chain: _I've been shot._  Someone in the black car finally scored a hit on him and melted his left wing.

            There's a flat rooftop about a meter and a half below him.  He folds his wings, drops Natalie – praying that he will live long enough to apologize to her for it – and turns off his boot jets, which will not help him now.  They aren't strong enough to keep him in the air without wings.  His trajectory takes him over the edge of the roof.  Now he's headed straight for the front of a red-brick building across the street.  Terry's first thought is to twist around and fire his grappling hook so that he can use it as an anchor, but he remembers that he already used and detached the hook when he boarded the black car.  The next few seconds, though they pass with terrible speed, are turned into nightmarish eternities by Terry's realization that all he has to save him is luck.

            He brings his arms up in front of his head to protect it just as he hits the wall.  A nova of pain explodes in his skull; afterwards he has brief, dim impressions of falling, rubble, dust, and another shock of pain that cascades through his entire body.

            Then darkness.

~***~

            Although Mel's way behind, Tama's right up on the tail of the black car now – she can't accelerate as fast as it can, but she can match its top speed.  For a while, anyway.  The police cruiser is still flying above it.  Since it's at its limit as far as engine power goes and it is below the level of the surrounding rooftops (and it will be even more so, when they get out of this ghost town and into the more built-up part of Gotham), Tama and the cop car are really cutting down on its options.  Maybe, now that Natalie's safe, they can force the damn thing down.

            The guy in the backseat takes one last shot in Batman's direction.  Tama doesn't think anything of it, since they've been missing him so far, but then she hears Mel's horrified gasp over the transmitter.  "_Batman's been hit!_" she announces, her voice brittle with panic.  Tama feels cold fear rise in her stomach and tries to push it down.  "_He dropped Natalie on a roof,_" Mel continues.  "_I think she's okay…_"

            Alex cuts in.  "_Go make sure.  Tama, you stay on the car._"

            "You bet," Tama says.  "I'll get the bastards down one way or…"

            At an intersection the black car makes a sudden right turn to get out from under the police cruiser.  Tama swears and follows it.  The cruiser corrects its course, too, but not in time.  Fortunately for Tama, the black car had to loose some speed to turn – and she can make it up pretty fast.  She holds her staff in both hands and twists it so that a small blade pokes out of the upper end.  With a malicious grin she swoops below the black car and rakes the blade on the staff along the bottom, producing a horrible metal-on-metal grating noise.  Sparks and flashes of electricity play about the tear in the car's bottom as Tama gets out from under it.

            Now it's losing altitude fast – it won't crash, but it's going to have a _very _bumpy landing.  Tama and the police unit both "escort" it to the ground.  Once it skids to a stop, Tama waits in front of it, hovering on her board, staff at the ready.  The cop unit behind has its guns trained on the black car, and Tama can hear approaching police sirens.

            The two front doors and the back door open.  The scary gray-suited guy, the soldier and the goon get out slowly, with their hands in the air.  Two women with blasters at the ready disembark from the GCPD unit.  She recognizes one of them as Police Commissioner Barbara Gordon – which is a pleasant surprise.  Gordon gives Tama an approving smile before turning a baleful glare on the bad guys.  "Put your hands on your heads, gentlemen.  _Slowly._"

            A few more police cars arrive as Barbara reads the goons their rights.  Tama figures it's time for her to go – she's worried about Mel, Natalie and Batman.  Her ascent from the ground is followed by the fascinated eyes of the policemen who have just gotten out of their cars to apprehend the three culprits.  Once Tama's attained sufficient height, she salutes them and flies off to rejoin her friends.

            If they're okay, she decides, this will officially be a good night.

~***~

            Melanie lands on the roof, folds her wings and runs toward Natalie, her stomach knotting in panic.  She can hear the roar of the black car over the transmitter, since she's getting audio input from Tama's sensor pickups.  "Alex," she says, "Disconnect me – just watch Tama."

"_All right,_" Alex says.  "_Just signal if you need me again_."  The background noise from the car chase is suddenly silenced as Melanie is taken out of the communications link.  If the worst has happened to Terry – no, Batman – she doesn't want Alex to see it for himself, or to know her reaction.

Natalie, at least, is all right; she's managed to get herself into a sitting position.  But Melanie is anxious about Batman, and can't help but wonder if he's dying right now, even as she…No, she has to take care of Natalie first.  That's what he'd want her to do.  "Are you okay?" she asks as she kneels down next to Natalie and gets a lockpick from her belt.  She gets to work on the handcuffs.

            "I'm okay.  Where's Batman?  What happened to…"

            "Let me take care of you first."  Her eyes flicker to the building across the road, and she feels sick when she sees the damage his impact caused.  He must have been going pretty fast…but the suit had to have protected him…but could it stand up to…?

            She gets Natalie's handcuffs off, then the shock collar around her neck.  Natalie stands up and nods.  "Melanie," she says quietly, "I want to warn you.  He might not be…"

            But Melanie isn't listening.  She's already running toward the edge of the roof, unfolding her wings again.  Melanie does a graceful dive off the roof and glides down to Terry's side, too distracted by fear to correct 'Terry' into 'Batman.'  He's lying facedown on the sidewalk, surrounded by settling dust and a few bricks that he took down with him when he hit the building.  Melanie kneels down next to him and carefully turns him over and cradles his head in the crook of her left arm, praying that she will find him breathing and alive.

            One of the ears on his cowl is broken, and red circuitry shows through the torn fabric around it.  Melanie assumes that the cowl works the same way hers does.  She takes hold of it at the base of Terry's neck – fortunately, the nanoseals that fuse it with the rest of the suit detach at her touch – and pulls it over his head.  She doesn't know how he'd feel about that, but she already knows who he is, and if Natalie manages to see him from the roof, well, she's not going to tell anybody.

             As the cowl comes off he twitches and takes a ragged breath of air.  Melanie is relieved, but only a little; the sight of blood running from a wound near his right temple and matting his hair starts her trying to calculate the extent of his injuries.  "It's okay," she whispers, trying to reassure herself as well as him.  "Listen to me.  Try to stay awake," she says, surprised at the calm in her own voice – surprised, in fact, that she can speak at all.

            Terry's eyelids flutter open, but he groans and shuts them again.  Melanie doesn't know what to make of his labored breathing, which may just be from intense pain or a bruise or break in the ribs.  She doesn't have any idea what to do at all, except stay with him until help comes.

            The soft whine of jets startles her.  She looks in the direction of the sound, up and to the left, and sees a sleek black shape descending towards her from the air.  Melanie experiences a moment of panic before she realizes that it's the Batmobile.  It touches down slowly about two meters away from her, its idling engines whirring softly.  The canopy lifts and slides back to reveal a cushioned seat and a cockpit full of red lights.

            Then a speaker-carried voice issues from the car.  "_Is he all right?_" it says.  The deep, slightly gravelly voice is familiar, but Melanie can't quite place it.

            "I don't know," she replies, loud enough for the owner of the voice to hear her over the engine.  "His head's bleeding and he's having trouble staying conscious."  She bites her lip to keep back the question of _what should I do?_

            "_Can you get him into the car?_" the voice asks.

            "I'll try," she replies, and turns to Terry.  His eyes are slightly open – he's conscious, if only just.  "Did you hear that?" she asks, hoping that he can understand her.

            "Yes," is his strangled reply. 

"Do you think you can stand, if I help you?"

            "Maybe," he says between gritted teeth.  "Just…slowly."

            "Okay.  Get ready," Melanie says.  She carefully shifts her grip on him, gets his right arm draped about her neck and her left arm under his shoulders.  The other arm goes around his waist, even though it makes her terribly self-conscious.  She slowly maneuvers him into a kneeling position, then gets him to his feet.  Their difference in height makes it easier for her to act as a support.  Despite her help, Terry struggles with every step they take towards the car, and she has to balance for both of them.

            At last they reach the Batmobile, and Melanie carefully maneuvers her charge so that he's standing parallel to it.  The problem is that this car doesn't have normal doors – the sides are low, and the vehicle's on the ground, but she's going to have to lift him.  Even with the strength amplifiers in her suit it won't be easy, since she's smaller then he is.

            "We're next to the car now.  I'm going to lift you in," she warns him.  He's still standing, but if he hears her, he's not giving any sign of it.  Melanie gets one arm behind his head and the other behind his knees, then lifts him off the ground.  Although he isn't as heavy as she expected, thanks to her suit, he's still an awkward burden to carry.  She's barely able to lean forward far enough to place him in the cockpit's padded seat.

            As soon as she withdraws her arms, a restraint harness springs from the seat and secures him.  Terry, his strength and willpower drained by the agonizing walk to the Batmobile, loses consciousness again, and his chin droops onto his chest.

            "Is he going to be all right?" Melanie asks.  She feels numb inside, burned out by fear, and her words sound numb and flat.

            "_He will.  I promise,_" the voice says with conviction.  Melanie tries to let it reassure her, but it doesn't.

            The canopy begins sliding forward again, hiding Terry in shadow and finally obscuring him from view.  Melanie steps backward as it slowly rises into the air, doing a cautious 180 degree turn.  She expects it to blast off – maybe because it looks fast even when it's standing still – but instead it moves slowly, for the sake of its passenger.  For some reason Melanie finds this very unnerving.

            As the Batmobile departs it fades into transparency, then becomes completely invisible.  It must be a cloak.  She strains to hear the sound of its engines, but she can only hear distant police sirens and the beating of her own heart.

            Melanie knows that she should go back to the roof and help Natalie down right now, but for several moments she can only stand still and watch the empty, starless sky. 


	41. Chapter Forty: Visits and Meetings

            The first thing Terry feels when he comes to is a splitting migraine headache.  Or at least that's what it feels like – there are scraps of memory in the back of his mind, clues to what the pain actually is and what caused it, but when he tries to chase them down they swirl away.  _Head injury,_ he concludes.  It's a good enough explanation for now.

            Now he has to figure out where he is.  Wayne told him that he should never open his eyes as soon as he regains consciousness; instead he should stay still and use his other senses to gather information.  From the softness under his head and body, and the light, comfortable weight resting on him, he guesses that he is in a bed.  There's a beeping noise coming from up and to his left, and a band snugly fitted around his forearm on that side.  He's in a hospital, definitely.  On the other side a light is shining through his closed eyelids, and he senses the presence of another person in the room, a presence which is confirmed by the rustling of clothing and the creak of a chair.

            Terry decides it's safe to open his eyes.  When he does, though, he has reason to reconsider – in his state, even the relatively weak light in the room is enough to pierce painfully through his eyeballs and overload his nerves.  He doesn't even manage to keep his eyes open long enough to determine who's sitting next to him.  Terry winces and squeezes his eyes shut.

            "Terry?"  It's his mother's voice – he should have guessed she'd be here.  Her tone is a mix of worry and relief.  He hears her slide forward in her chair, feels her squeeze his right hand in her own.  "Terry," she repeats, a little louder and more anxious this time.  "Are you awake?"  Her slight increase in volume rattles his skull in a very unpleasant way.

            "Yes, Mom," he answers.  Talking hurts a little, but he can handle it.

            Mary McGinnis lets out a sound that might be a sob, or a cry of relief, and hugs him tightly.  Terry yelps as the sudden disturbance sets off another jolt of pain in his head.  His mother draws back.  "Sorry," she says, laying a hand on his arm.  "I didn't mean to do that, it's just…"

            "It's okay," Terry assures her.  He tries to open his eyes again – this time it's not as painful.  A quick look around confirms that he is indeed in the hospital.  The room's a white tile box, with windows on the right wall and a door to the left.  Since the shades are open, he can see that it's night outside.  The overhead fluorescent light is off, but a small goose-necked lamp on the bedside table to his right provides the room with some illumination.  His mother is sitting in a plastic chair on that side, looking happy despite her obvious exhaustion.  To his left is a stack of monitoring equipment and an IV, both of which are hooked up to his left arm.

            "How are you feeling?" Terry's mother asks.

            "Like someone's been using my head as a drum set," Terry responds.  "What happened, and how long have I been out?"

            Mary sits back in her chair.  "The doctor said you've got a concussion and some bruised ribs.  Mr. Wayne told me you were carrying a box of books down from the attic and tripped on the way down," she answers.  Her tone of voice makes it clear that _that_ explanation is only a cover.  Terry isn't sure what really happened himself.  He considers asking his mother for details, but decides against it – even if she knows all the details, this isn't the time or the place to talk about it.

            "You've been here since last night – so have I, for most of the time.  Matt's staying at Mrs. Wilkie's apartment downstairs.  Maxine told me to call her as soon as you wake up, but since it's 2 AM, I think that can wait until tomorrow."  She stands up from her chair.  "I should tell the nurse you're awake, so she can check on you.  It'll just take a minute."

            "I'll stay put, I promise," Terry assures her.  She grins at him, gives him a final pat on the arm, and walks out.

            Terry sighs and looks up at the ceiling.  Now that he's alone, he can't help but be painfully aware of the beeping machine near his bed.  The sound is starting to get on his nerves.  _How long until I can get out of here_?  A couple of days, at least, and probably more.  Until then, he won't know what exactly put him in the hospital – unless he can remember it himself.  In his mind he tries to find his last clear memory and pick up from there.  He remembers catching Natalie, and flying off with her, and then it all starts to get hazy…

            His contemplation is interrupted by the return of his mother, this time with a nurse in tow.  By the time the nurse is through checking his vital signs and making sure that he's working right, more or less, he feels too tired to chase his memory down again.  Staying awake for even a few minutes takes a monumental effort.

            When he drifts into sleep, with his mother holding his hand, he dreams of nothing at all.

~***~

            Terry gets more visits over the next three days than he has in his entire life up to this point.  Or, at least, that's the way it seems to him.  Max, Matt and Wayne are among the first to see him.  Much to Terry's frustration, Wayne will not discuss anything Batman-related in the hospital.  The closest he gets is saying that Terry will have a week off once he's discharged, whether he likes or it not.  Terry thinks that, back in the day, the old man would have been out on the streets again the very night he left the hospital and no buts about it, but he doesn't say that.  Dana and Chelsea stop by to see him; the encounter with his ex and her best friend is not as uncomfortable as he would have expected it to be.  Max comes again, this time with Jared and Howard.  His mother's parents come in from Massachusetts, and his father's sister from Virginia.  The visitors all start to run together after a while, and being the center of attention loses its appeal very quickly.

            Barbara Gordon doesn't really have an excuse to come in and see him – she's part of his other life.  But she does send a get-well card with only her first name signed to it.  He also gets a card sent by Natalie and Kitsune – it's signed with the initials "N. M." and a brushwork picture of a fox.  The cards make him feel both appreciated and uncomfortable in equal measure, and he hides them in the drawer of his bedside table.

            Early on the third day, he receives a card with an impressionistic depiction of flowers on the front, no words…except on the inside, where a message is written in a graceful hand.  _I've been worried about you, but I'm glad to hear that you're getting better.  We need to talk soon.  I'll be waiting for you under the big clock at seven PM on Wednesday._  There's no signature, but Terry doesn't need one.  There's only one person who would ask to meet him under the big clock.  And he's gotten enough of his memory in order by now to know that he owes it to her.

            Terry holds the card open in his hands for a long time, looking at it the way he sometimes looks at nighttime Gotham from the top of a skyscraper.  He spends the remainder of his time in the hospital anticipating, with mixed feelings, his talk with Wayne and his meeting with Melanie.


	42. Chapter Forty One: Where We Started

            "Okay," Terry says as he falls into one of the armchairs in Wayne's parlor.  The sudden motion causes a twinge of pain in his head, but he suppresses the urge to wince.  "Tell me _everything_."

            "From where?" Wayne smiles as he more cautiously lowers himself into the chair across from Terry.  "What's the last thing you remember clearly?"

            "Catching Natalie.  It all gets kinda weird after that," Terry answers.

            Wayne settles back in the chair, with his arms on the armrests.  Ace plods over and sits down at his master's feet, then puts his head on the floor and cocks an ear at Terry.  "The man in the front passenger seat clipped your left wing with a blaster," Wayne says.  "You were right over a rooftop and you dropped Natalie on it.  She's fine – I spoke to her the next day."

            Terry sits up, surprised.  "You did?  What did you…"

            Wayne holds up a hand.  "Let me finish.  You went out of control and hit the building across the street from where you dropped Natalie.  The suit saved you from getting killed – barely.  That and the wing damage made for twelve hours of repair work."

            "Sorry," Terry says, sure that he's coloring at least a little.

            "Now that I think about it, I should have waited and let you fix it yourself.  Next time, I _will,_" he declares.  Terry expected Wayne to say something like this, and he knows it's not an empty threat, but the statement does not have as much bite in it as he anticipated.  He's getting off easy, considering.

            "There won't _be_ a next time," Terry says.  "Once was enough, believe me."

"If you stay in this job, there _will _be a next time.  It's inevitable," Wayne says briskly.  After a moment's pause, he gets back on the subject.  "The crash took out your transmitter, too," Wayne says, giving him a look full of uncomfortable gravity.  Terry can read the subtext here: _I didn't know if you were alive or dead._  "I got the Batmobile there not long afterward, so I was able to see most of what happened.  Shinobi found you…"

            Terry gets the sense that Wayne used the name 'Shinobi' to save him any discomfort, but it didn't work.  "Just call her Melanie," Terry says.

            Wayne nods.  "All right then.  _Melanie_ found you.  She was there when the car touched down, and she helped you in."

            "I remember a little of that," Terry remarks.  Although he doesn't fully trust the memories – they're like the remnants of a fading nightmare.  "There's something else…did she take off my cowl?"

            There is the slightest hint of discomfort in Wayne's expression.  "When you arrived back here it was off, so I suppose she did.  It was the right thing to do, under the circumstances.  Even if it _was_ risky."

            Terry looks out the window for a moment, letting the words settle in his mind.  "What happened after that?"

            "I called Max," Wayne says.  "She helped me set up your alibi; a fall down the attic stairs.  Then I called up an ambulance.  And your mother, who is not very happy with me at the moment."

            "Didn't think so," Terry smiles.  "Now, what about this conversation with Natalie?  How'd you contact her?"

            Wayne shakes his head.  "It was the other way around.  I'm not sure how Natalie figured it out – though I have my suspicions."  He doesn't say what they are, but he doesn't have to.

            "About that…I got a message from Melanie while I was in the hospital.  She wants to talk to me.  I just…thought you should know."

            The old man looks at him critically.  "Are you telling me that you're going to meet her, or are you asking for my advice?"

            "Well, I'm…I mean…I was going to…"  Terry gives up, clasps his hands and looks down at them.  "I don't know."

            "Hm."  Wayne half-smiles in amusement.  He leans back in the chair and steeples his fingers.  "Either way, I can't help you.  You're on your own."

            Terry frowns.  "Not even a suggestion?  A hint?"

            "No."

            For a few seconds Terry looks Wayne in the eye, waiting for him to change his mind and say something.  Ace, perhaps disturbed by the unexpected silence, perks up his ears, lifts his head, and looks from Terry to his master and back.

            The combined human and canine opposition, quiet though it is, proves to be too much.  At last, with a roll of his eyes and a fatalistic wave of his hands, Terry concedes defeat.  "Fine.  I'll just go and screw it up on my own."

            Wayne chuckles.  "That's the spirit," he says, as he reaches down to scratch Ace between the ears.

~***~

            The last time Terry met Melanie here he was late, and she was late, because she had been helping to commit a robbery and he had been trying to stop it.  Though he didn't know about her involvement until later.  And when he finally arrived, it started to rain.  Now he waits for her anxiously, under a clear sky still lit at this hour by the summer sun.  This time he's come early, though it just makes for a longer and more agonizing wait.  Terry leans against the base of the clock tower and watches the people walking by, looking the other way whenever he sees a couple strolling together.

            He wonders why she picked this place.  It does _mean_ something to them, but in this case that could be considered a disadvantage.  And it's too public; with the things they have to talk about, he'd have thought Melanie would go for a more secluded place.  But maybe she's afraid of being alone with him – not because she doesn't trust him, but because she doesn't trust herself.  Or – he doesn't like this possibility – she thinks that _he_ would be uncomfortable being alone with _her_.  Which is true.  Stupid, but true.

            Even though he's listening for the clock to strike seven, he's still startled when the bell begins to toll.  He hears every subtle reverberation in the deep, resounding rings, and is painfully aware of the emptiness contained in each moment of silence between the final echo of one ring and the beginning of another.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six…

            As the echoes of the seventh bell-toll fade into silence, he sees Melanie turn the corner to his right.  Terry has been leaning against this side of the clock tower for the past fifteen minutes, so he does not know whether she's just arrived, or if she waited around the corner and started searching for him when the last bell rang.  She's wearing a sleeveless knee-length summer dress in a light blue that matches her eyes, and a pair of simple leather sandals.  Terry knows enough about women to understand that she chose her outfit for this meeting very carefully, but he can't begin to understand what her choice means.

            He pushes himself off the wall and stands up straight.  Melanie smiles in that haunting, melancholy way that he could never quite get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

            "Hi," she says quietly, obviously trying too hard to sound normal.  "How're you feeling?"

            "Better.  I'm off work for a few days, though."  His heart is pounding so loud and fast, he can barely hear himself think, but he's acting like he talks to her every day – and he referred to his work as casually as if it were an ordinary job.  It would be funny, if he weren't an inch short of terrified.

            "We can handle it," she assures him.  Then she looks down and away for a moment.  "Do you want to talk here, or walk?"

            "What?  Oh…um, whichever one you want to do, I guess."

            Melanie nods.  "We'll walk," she says as she starts moving down the sidewalk.  Terry falls into step beside her.  He finds that moving seems to dissipate some of his nervousness.  Maybe that's why Melanie suggested it.

            For about half a minute, neither of them says anything.  Then Melanie works up the courage to speak.  "I know things are…kind of weird between us."  She pauses for a moment.  "Okay, _not _just kind of weird.  Really messed up," she adds quickly.  "That's mostly my fault."

            "No, it's not," Terry protests.  "You can blame _me_ for some of that, too.  But…well, it's mostly just the way things are."  _That sounded really, really stupid, McGinnis._

            Fortunately Melanie doesn't seem to think it's all that stupid.  She smiles with a mix of amusement and embarrassment.  "It doesn't really matter now, anyway."  Melanie looks at the ground and pushes a strand of hair away from her face, then looks up at Terry again with slightly less anxiety and more conviction.  "It's going to take a while to fix things – if we _can_ fix things.  But we kind of have to."  They stop at an intersection and wait for a walk signal from across the street.  Melanie looks around, making sure that nobody's close by.  Then she whispers, "Kitsune's going to New York soon.  I'll be staying here."

            No wonder she wanted to talk to him so badly.  "And you thought that if we didn't talk about it now, we'd never get to it?"

            "Yeah.  Something like that."  The traffic light turns red, and they walk across the street.  It occurs to Terry to wonder why they're taking the trouble to do this, when they aren't really headed anywhere in particular.  Or maybe they are – he's letting Melanie lead, after all.  "A while ago I realized that there were lots of times when I kept doing the wrong thing – or didn't do the right thing – even when I should've known better.  I promised myself I wouldn't be like that anymore."

            "It's kind of a hard promise to keep," Terry remarks.

            "I know.  But then I figure I'll have fewer things to regret."  She kicks a discarded soda can, sending it into the street.  "I've got enough of those already."

            Terry lets this bounce around in his mind for a moment.  "That's why you joined up with Natalie, isn't it?  To make up for…um."  He rubs the back of his head nervously and looks away from Melanie's uncomfortable gaze.  She's not looking at him angrily, or sadly – she's just maintaining eye contact the way normal people do, but something about the way she does it makes her seem way too focused.  "I can understand that," Terry says quietly.

            Now Melanie's look is critical.  "You mean you've been a criminal before?"

            "Yeah, actually," Terry responds, more defensively than he intended.

            Melanie's face colors with chagrin.  "Oh.  You…never told me"

            "We didn't tell each other a lot of things," Terry reminds her.  Melanie nods as she turns to traverse another crosswalk.  He follows her, wondering where she's headed.  "Okay.  Long story short is, I was in this gang a few years ago, I did some pretty bad stuff, and I got caught.  So I _do_ know what it's like."  He considers a moment before adding, "A little."

            For a few seconds Melanie just watches him, and he can almost see the neurons firing madly behind her eyes.  "That means you don't hate me?"

            _What the…?_  Terry stops in his tracks and blinks at her.  "No!  No.  I never did.  I can't."  They start walking again.  "Especially since you saved my bacon the other night."

            Melanie looks at her feet.  "I didn't really.  I just helped…"

            Terry turns to face her.  "Don't even bother to finish that.  It's not true."  She looks at him in bewilderment.  Terry realizes that they are standing still and he has his hands on her shoulders.  _How'd that happen?_  He lifts his hands, takes a half-stepped back and puts them self-consciously in his pockets.  "Sorry," he says, walking in the direction they were heading before.

            "It's all right."  Melanie follows him.  They come to a ramp that feeds into a causeway street above, and start walking up it.  There aren't so many pedestrians around here, although there are lots of cars.  Neither of them try to talk, because they'd have to raise their voices to do it.  After a bit of a hike they reach the causeway road, which slopes more gently.  There's not so much traffic up here, and it's quieter.

            "About getting caught," Melanie says, as if there had been no break in the conversation at all, "Are you glad it happened?"

            Usually she confuses him by saying things like that – it's as much a part of her as her melancholy smile or her too-intense gaze – but he can see where this one is going.  "I wasn't then.  But I am now.  If I hadn't been caught when I was, I think I'd have done a lot worse."

            Melanie nods.  "Then you'll believe it when I say I'm glad _I_ got caught, too," she says.  She turns right into a pedestrian walkway that climbs slowly to the roof of a large building nearby.  "Especially by someone who helped me even after he knew who I really was."  This time her smile is more like a normal one.

            "Except you didn't know that back then," Terry points out.

            "No, Batman helped me out too, remember?" she reminds him.  "That made a lot more sense when I figured out you were both the same person."

            They emerge from the walkway onto the roof.  With a start Terry recognizes where they are – they walked here from the clock, the first time he met her there, but by a less direct route.  This is the little park where they stood together and watched the sun rise.  Now the sun is setting on the opposite horizon.  He and Melanie go to a bench on the west side and sit down, not awkwardly distant from each other but not touching either.

            "I remember this spot," Terry says, smiling at her.

            Melanie shrugs.  "It was the only place I could think of to go.  I can't just wander around, usually."  She sits back, crosses her ankles and looks out across the city.  "I have to be going somewhere."

            Terry sits forward, with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped, and looks at her, just watching the way the light of the setting sun paints warm colors on her pale hair.  When she turns to look at him, he smiles.  "So where are you going now?  Or where are _we_ going?"

            She returns his smile with warmth and affection, not a trace of sadness.  "I'll figure that out once we know where to start from."

            Terry looks at his hands and flexes his fingers, thinking.  "Well, we've both given each other a lot of grief since we met.  But we've also helped each other, so I think it kind of balances out."

            "And where does that leave us?" she says, shifting a little closer to him.

            He grins.  "I guess that means we're back where we started," he says, straightening up in his seat.

            "That's good," Melanie says.  "I _like_ where we started."

            It's hard to say who starts the kiss first; most likely they're both to blame.  As the kiss continues, they embrace each other, the way they did before things got complicated, before they knew about each other's secrets.  And Terry realizes he's finally gotten out of the hell he's been in for the past two weeks.  For the moment, he's as far from it as he can possibly get. 

            At last they have to break for air.  Melanie sighs contentedly and lays her head on Terry's shoulder.  For a while they just sit, watching the red-orange sun sink past the horizon.  Then Melanie shifts a bit, and Terry gets the feeling that she's agitated.  "What?" he asks in a near-whisper.

            "I know you're off work tonight, but _I'm_ not," she says.  "Which means I'll have to go soon."

            Yet another good thing – neither of them has to lie or make excuses to each other.  At least, not about _this._  "I can see you tomorrow," Terry assures her, "And in not too long I'll be joining you."

            "That'll be fun," Melanie murmurs.  "But for now, let's just stay and enjoy the free time while we have it."  She snuggles against him.  "Live for the moment, you know."

            Her words remind Terry that they're not _quite_ back where they started.  Things are still complicated, just in a different way.  The fact that they understand each other doesn't mean that everything will be easy between them – understanding doesn't solve all problems.  But at least they have a future after this moment.  And possibilities.

            After that, Terry decides not to think of the future for a while.  He and Melanie sit together, caught in the moment, until the sun disappears.

~The End~


End file.
